A Soldier of Fortune
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Written for 2 challenges. Newkirk's sticky fingers lead to a sticky wicket when he unwittingly pilfers from a smuggling ring. Now, the ring plans to initiate the corporal into their fold and force him to steal for them- whether he likes it or not.
1. Cold Spell

_Author's note: The characters aren't mine (except for all but one of the travelers; most of them are OCs, but the Egyptian man is a cameo from another one of my fandoms), and the story is! I dedicate this fic to Deana, who has been patiently waiting for it since I first tossed the idea around months ago. The secret of the book that Newkirk discovers in this chapter is based on a true story; it's only a mild exaggeration. Lastly, this fic was written for Sayla Ragnarok's "Here there be Pirates" challenge, and a variation of Sarajm's "Let's Use Newkirk" challenge (the original challenge for that was to have a German officer seek to use Newkirk's thieving talents; here, it's going to be the smugglers)._

* * *

Corporal Peter Newkirk clutched at the coat around his shoulders as he walked through the woods near Stalag 13. He longed for his RAF-issue overcoat instead of the civilian clothes he was wearing. Behind him, Corporal Louis LeBeau tightened the red scarf he always carried; he was not willing to part with it, even while in disguise—and certainly not in this weather, anyway. The January night was especially cold; the wind was whipping snow all around them and driving down the temperatures to intolerable levels.

Ahead of Newkirk, Sergeant Andrew Carter was blowing on his gloved hands.

"Boy…" he said, quietly. "What a night for a mission! I can't even feel my ears anymore!"

It had been especially cold for the young American; he had been the one setting the charges near the ammo dump that would soon go up in smoke while Newkirk and LeBeau had waited some distance away in the woods. The three Allies were keen to get back to Stalag 13 before the inevitable madness broke loose to give themselves an alibi. They had time to spare; the charges weren't due to go off for another hour, but the men were also looking forward to warming themselves by the stove in the middle of their barracks. The blankets on the tough, wooden bunks never seemed more inviting.

"I shall be frozen soon!" LeBeau said. He hadn't expected the cold spell to be so severe.

"I think I already am…" Newkirk replied, his dry sense of humor becoming even drier. "I think I froze to death back there and left me body behind. I'm only 'ere in spirit."

"And yet you keep fighting," LeBeau replied, humoring him. "_Il est incroyable_."

Carter suddenly stopped short, causing both corporals to crash into him.

"Andrew, what—?" the Englishman murmured.

"I thought I heard voices," the sergeant replied, quietly. "Wait a second… I _did_ hear voices! Listen—they're coming from the bottom of that small hill. Can't you hear them?"

"Which _imbéciles_ would be out here in this weather?" LeBeau murmured.

"Oi, what does that make us, then?" Newkirk asked, with a frown.

LeBeau chose not to answer.

"Let's just get out of here and back to camp," Carter said, casting a glance down the hill. He couldn't see anything; it was far too dark. "It's warmer and safer there—oops!"

He tripped over a snow-covered rock, dislodging it and sending it down the hill; this was followed by a series of quiet thumps from the bottom of the hill. The voices grew silent for a moment, but then resumed in an angered and worried tone.

"Who is there?" one demanded in English, as flashlight beams came their way.

"Now you've done it!" Newkirk hissed, ducking down to avoid the lights. Part of the beam briefly illuminated his shoulder as he hit the snowy ground, and he cursed; they knew now that someone was here.

"I think we are in luck, though," LeBeau said, pulling Carter down with him. "Their accents do not sound German!"

"What's your analysis, then?" Newkirk asked, with a roll of his eyes.

"They could be escaped prisoners of war," the Frenchman said.

"And they also might be German agents posing as them," Newkirk warned, much more cautious about everything since the Gretel incident—and its aftermath. He tried to inch along the ground, and cursed as he ended up dislodging more snow, sending it down the small hill. They were lucky it was a moonless night; the hill was small enough that had there been even a sliver of moonlight, the silhouettes of the three soldiers would likely have been spotted, even as they pressed themselves to the ground.

"Who is there?" another non-German voice repeated. "Please, can you help us?"

"Quiet—it's probably a German," a second voice warned.

"See, they do not wish to meet them, either," LeBeau whispered.

"Well, if we don't show ourselves, they're going to be coming up here, looking for whoever it is they saw," Carter realized, upset that he had caused such a problem. Oh, why did he have to be so clumsy? "I'd better go."

"You two stay right 'ere; cover me," Newkirk said, neither he nor Carter caring that he, a corporal, was giving an order to a sergeant. He grabbed at a few fallen branches, gathering them in his arms before making his way down the hill to the party of men. Several large, hardcover books littered the ground; the men, who were also carrying traveling packs and maps, must have dropped them when they were startled by the rock.

"_Abend_, Gentlemen," he said, in a German accent. "Forgive me for startling you; I ran out of firewood and had to come here to get some more."

"That's fine," one of the men replied, relived that Newkirk didn't seem to be armed. The man's accent was English, much to Newkirk's surprise and pleasure. "We are trying to reach the Hammelburg Road; we were making our way to town and got lost."

"Hammelburg Road? _Ja_, I know it well," Newkirk said, picking up some of the books and handing them back to the travelers. He frowned to himself; something about the books didn't seem quite right. As he gave the directions to the men to get to the road, he discreetly slid one of the books into the nearby bushes with his foot as he pointed out the direction to travel.

"Thank you for your help," another one of the men said. This man wasn't English; his accent was one that Newkirk could not place, and the corporal pondered over it as the men left. He could not have known that the man was an Egyptian.

Newkirk sighed to himself once they had gone, relieved that no adverse outcomes had come about as a result of the encounter. Picking up the solitary book he had concealed, he headed back up the hill to join the others.

"Who were they?" LeBeau inquired.

"Lost travelers, by the looks of it," Newkirk answered. "You were right, Louis; they ain't German. At least one of them was English, but I didn't let on that I was, too."

"Huh…" Carter mused. "Why would an English traveler and his buddies be in the middle of the woods in Germany? There _is_ a war on, you know; something doesn't add up."

"Maybe they're escaped prisoners, then," the Englishman answered. "But it doesn't really matter; they're on their merry way. Some other organization must've aided them; If we 'ad been the ones to 'elp them, they'd 'ave come through Stalag 13."

"Good point," Carter admitted. "Hey, where'd that book come from?"

"Oh, they were carrying a bunch of books with them; I figured they wouldn't miss one," Newkirk said. He didn't mention the odd feeling he had received when handling the books; he intended to look over the book as soon as possible. If something was odd about the book, then it could explain why "travelers" were wandering the German woods so late at night.

"You stole a book from those poor travelers?" LeBeau asked, shaking his head.

"Oh, leave off; what can they do about it? It's a ruddy book, not a priceless 'eirloom! And to them, it's likely just a mistake—they might 'ave forgotten one on their own!"

"Hey, can't we take this conversation back to the barracks?" Carter asked. "I need to keep looking down to make sure that I still have feet; I can't feel them anymore! And let me tell you, it's a weird feeling to be walking without being able to feel your feet; it's like something out of a scary story—where the monster has your feet, only you don't know it yet. And that goes for ears, too; you know, I heard somewhere that if it's cold enough, your ears can fall off—"

Newkirk responded by clapping his free hand over Carter's mouth. LeBeau rolled his eyes and led the way back to Stalag 13.

* * *

Those inside the wooden barracks of Stalag 13 were not spared from the wind chill; the men of Barracks Two had brought out whatever extra blankets they could and were huddled around the small stove. Even Colonel Hogan, who usually remained unflinching in adverse weather conditions, was seen with a blanket wrapped around him, as well.

"Listen to that wind howl," Kinch murmured. "I feel sorry for those three."

"We need to start paying more attention to those weather reports we keep tuning out," Hogan said. He was using dry humor to cover his own feelings of guilt for sending Carter, LeBeau, and Newkirk out; he hadn't expected the temperatures to plummet so severely, either. "I know I said to Klink that the Russian Front was coming closer by the day, but this isn't quite what I had in mind…"

He trailed off as a tapping sound came from the bunk bed trapdoor.

"Our fearless trio hath arrived," Baker commented. "It's all clear, guys!"

LeBeau shot out of the tunnel opening as though he had been launched from a cannon; he came just short of embracing the stove. Carter followed, with Newkirk hobbling behind him as Olsen poured out cups of hot coffee for them.

"If another party in this room can confirm that I am not a spirit, and that Andrew still 'as both of 'is ears and feet, it is much appreciated," the Englishman cracked. He sighed as he finally sat down in front of the stove, taking the coffee that Olsen handed to him. "Oh, Cor, I needed this; thanks, mate."

"I'd ask how it went, but I don't think you're in the mood for it," Hogan said, instructing the men to hand some spare blankets to the trio. He frowned as he noticed the book in the Englishman's other hand. "Newkirk, what's that you've got there?"

"I think it's 'ypothermia, Sir," the corporal responded, before realizing what Hogan meant. "Oh, this? Just a book some travelers left behind; they were looking for the 'ammelburg Road, and I…" He trailed off at the look of disapproval on Hogan's face.

"You were spotted," he realized.

"Oh, the mission went fine, Sir," Newkirk assured him. "They seemed like either ordinary travelers or escaped prisoners; one of them was English, too. And I was the only one they saw."

"It was my fault, Sir," Carter admitted, through chattering teeth. "I kicked a rock down a hill by accident, and they heard it. But Newkirk's right; they're just travelers."

"Okay, so you got lucky this time," said Hogan. "But you're not off the hook yet. What happens when those charges go off and Hochstetter comes swooping into the area? He finds them, questions them, and they give a description of Newkirk."

"It was dark, _Colonel_," LeBeau said. "And Hochstetter would likely accuse them of the sabotage before listening to them; they aren't even German. It is as Pierre said; they might be escaped prisoners who were processed elsewhere."

"Well, I still don't like it," Hogan said. "We're the resident escape agency; why would they be so close to us and not pass through?"

"They _were_ lost, Sir," Newkirk said. "They must've come through from somewhere else and got all turned around in the cold."

"That's right, Colonel; if we hadn't had a compass, we might've gotten lost out there," Carter added. "I mean… that snow was whipping around so much—"

"I get the idea," Hogan said, with a sigh. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now; we'll just have to play it by ear."

"Sorry, Sir," Carter added.

Newkirk exchanged a glance with LeBeau, who merely shrugged. The men in the barracks all lapsed into silence for the next several minutes. The silence was finally broken by a thunderous roar from far away, but loud enough to be heard above the howling wind.

"Well, there goes that ammo dump," said Newkirk, standing up and tossing the book onto his bunk. "I reckon it's time to call it a night."

"Yeah; Hochstetter will be here bright and early in the morning, screaming," Kinch deadpanned. "There won't be any sleeping after that…"

"I do not think I shall get any sleep in this icebox," LeBeau complained, clambering into the bunk, dragging three blankets behind him.

"Just imagine that each blanket is really a thick quilt," Carter offered, slipping into his usual bunk beneath Newkirk's. "And think about somewhere warm."

"You know, the cold causes 'allucinations," Newkirk quipped, vaulting onto his bunk. "I do think you've been out there too long."

Carter just shook his head, amused, slipping into slumber almost immediately as the rest of the men quietly squabbled to grab extra blankets and retreat to their respective bunks. Hogan paused to take a look outside through the periscope. Guards were moving into formation, looks of utter disdain on their faces to be out in the cold, but knowing that they would have to inspect the area of the ruined ammo dump.

Satisfied, the colonel retired to his quarters for the night. By the time Schultz came to make a bed check, everyone was in his respective bunk. The big man let out a sigh as he left, relieved that nothing would, hopefully, tie the men to the attack.

LeBeau ended up falling asleep after all, dreaming of sitting by the large fireplace in his grandfather's house with goose-down comforters wrapped around himself. Carter's ideas were not as farfetched as they sometimes sounded.

It was Newkirk who was the last one left lying awake. He wasn't so easily swayed by Carter's fanciful ideas, and the curiosity surrounding the odd feeling of the book was too distracting.

He pulled the book up to him and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, preparing to inspect it under the covers. The weight of the book hadn't seemed like what one would expect from such a large tome, and it had seemed like something had been moving around inside. Perhaps the bindings were loose; regardless, Newkirk was determined to find the source of the oddity.

The title and author of the book were not familiar to the Englishman, but he hadn't really expected them to be; he was not an avid reader. He had learned much more traversing the streets of London's East End as opposed to reading in a library.

Newkirk paged through the first few leaves, unable to find anything wrong (or remotely interesting) about the book, which was a rather uninteresting volume on identifying edible plants and mushrooms. His intuition, it seemed, had been off tonight.

_Charming; I went through all of that to bring this dull thing back to camp? I might as well give this to Louis; he could make more use of this book than I ever could_…

His train of thought screeched to a halt as turning the next page revealed a gaping hole cut into the volume. But the hole in the book was far from empty; the Englishman's heart skipped a beat as the small beam from his flashlight revealed the unmistakable glint of gold.


	2. Another Sticky Wicket

_Author's note: The diadem and the pendant that Newkirk finds are fictional items, but the golden dagger is based off of a real one that I saw firsthand when the Tutankhamun collection was on tour last year. Also, I'm delving more into Newkirk's character after a discussion with Kirarakim concerning how Newkirk tends to be the worrier of the group when he normally tries to be the devil-may-care one, which prompted me to believe that his outward persona is partly a mask to hide how he truly worries._

* * *

Newkirk stared in awe at the gold for a moment. His intuition hadn't failed him, but now it meant something else about those odd travelers—a possibility that had not crossed his mind.

_Smugglers_, he realized. That explained why they had been so keen on avoiding German guards or agents in the woods. _Right, then; let's see what they've got in here_.

Running the flashlight over the hole in the book, he could see that there were three separate items made from gold. The first was a small diadem, the second was an oddly decorated pendant, and the third was a thin dagger.

"Ruddy marvelous," the Englishman murmured, quietly, as he trained the tiny light closer to the objects.

His eyes widened further as he noticed carvings etched into the diadem and the dagger—Egyptian hieroglyphs. And while the pendant did not have any, there was a carving of the Wadjet Eye in the middle of it.

_Blimey, they ain't ordinary smugglers_, he marveled. _These are Egyptian antiquities—worth a fortune! Cor, I wonder what they had in the rest of those books…_

Newkirk stared at the treasure, wondering what to do. Since they were smugglers, they wouldn't dare report the missing items to anyone. He was the victor tonight, and to the victor went the spoils.

Sliding the small golden items into his pockets, he resolved to find a good hiding place for them in the morning. They'd be safe somewhere in the tunnels until the end of the war, he hoped. He would have to find somewhere that none of the other prisoners of war would go, however; the less who knew about this, the better…

The corporal let out a tremendous yawn as he now began to feel sleepy at last. A smile was on his face. Trudging through the cold and the snow hadn't been a complete waste of time after all; they got the ammo dump and a trio of artifacts.

As Newkirk sunk into dreams, the winter wind continued to whip around (and through) the barracks. For a while, the Englishman dreamed only of Arctic expeditions to go with the wind outside. But halfway through his dreams, the scenes changed. Arctic winds turned to desert winds; snow turned to sand as, in his dream world, Newkirk found himself in the middle of a sandstorm as he stood inside of a ruined ancient village…

"Pierre?"

"Louis, are you 'ere? Where are you!"

"Of course I am right here; I am cooking breakfast," the Frenchman replied, incredulously. "Though by my choice, I would be back in bed, trying to stay warm!"

Newkirk opened his eyes, finding himself back in the barracks, realizing that the dream must have been a product of last night's discovery. It was still a little early; most of the others were still in their bunks; aside from himself and LeBeau, Carter was the only other one awake.

"You were talking in your sleep," LeBeau went on. He smirked. "It was quite amusing; next time, I must get the tape recorder and play it back for you."

"Leave off," the Englishman said, with a roll of his eyes. "It's this ruddy cold spell that's doing it; I don't normally natter in me sleep, do I?"

"No, and that's what made it funny," Carter replied, with a grin. "You were mumbling something about someone named Alma, and she had a rather cold personality."

"What?" the Englishman asked, wondering how out of it he must have been.

"Yeah—'Cool Alma.' And then you mentioned something about 99 people," Carter said.

"Dreaming about a woman chasing him no doubt," LeBeau grinned. "And in front of a crowd of spectators, by the sound of it…"

"Right, you two 'ad your laugh; now can we change the subject?" Newkirk asked, silently vowing that it was going to be the last time he fell asleep with so much on his mind. Thankfully, only these two had heard him sleep-talking; the last thing he needed were the other men in the barracks making jokes about him.

"What's eating you?" Carter wondered.

"He clearly didn't get enough sleep," LeBeau said. "If he had, instead of simple mumbling, he would have given us an entire song-and-dance routine."

"I said leave off!" Newkirk quipped. The jokes would not have bothered him as much had his mind not been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what to do with the gold.

Carter, who had started to laugh again, stopped as Newkirk fumed.

"Hey, Louis, I think something really _is_ on his mind."

"Apologies, _mon pote_," LeBeau said, realizing that they may have gone too far. "Are you thinking about those men who spotted us yesterday?"

"You might say that," Newkirk said, clambering out of his bunk. He swore loudly as his feet hit the cold, wooden floor. "I'm going down into the tunnels for a while; let me know when it's time for roll call."

"It's going to be even colder down there," Carter warned.

"He is right; at least eat something warm first," LeBeau said, presenting some freshly-made crêpes to the Englishman.

Newkirk glanced at the food, and then at his concerned friends, debating within himself on whether to share the news of his find with them. They had a right to know, he decided; they had been with him out in the cold last night. And if he couldn't trust LeBeau and Carter, then he couldn't trust anyone.

The only thing that concerned him was how his friends would react. While Carter would probably only stare wide-eyed in shock at the revelation, it was LeBeau that made Newkirk reluctant to divulge his find. He knew all too well that LeBeau's reaction would be a vehement insistence on turning the artifacts over to a museum, and Carter would agree with him. Neither of them could be blamed for their sentiments, of course.

"Louis, I think you'd better sit down," he said, making his decision. While it was true that secrecy was key in a situation like this, he knew that he could trust his two best friends to take the secret to their graves—not that Newkirk would ever let it come to that, of course.

"You're not engaged, are you?" Carter asked, as the baffled Frenchman took a seat.

"Of course not!" Newkirk said, with a roll of his eyes. "That wouldn't be so much of a shock compared to this! It's about those blokes in the woods last night."

"_Oui_, the lost travelers," LeBeau agreed, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"They ain't lost travelers, little mate; I took a look through that book last night—"

"It was in code?" Carter interrupted, excited. "They're really spies?"

"Will you let me finish?" Newkirk asked. He lowered his voice after making sure that none of the others in the barracks were awake. "They're smugglers, and of antiquities to boot."

The sergeant and the corporal's mouths fell open in perfect unison.

"So what was in the book?" Carter whispered. "Plans or loot?"

"Loot—three pieces of Egyptian gold jewelry," the Englishman whispered back. As he expected, LeBeau's expression had suddenly gone rigid. "I ain't taking it out 'ere, but I was 'oping to stash it somewhere in the tunnels; I can let you 'ave a look then, if you like."

"You bet I'd like to see 'em!" Carter exclaimed in a whisper, his eyes gleaming. "What are we waiting for?"

He bolted to the bunk bed entrance and practically threw himself in.

LeBeau quickly removed his pan from the stove before following Newkirk down, too. Arriving deep in the tunnel, where Newkirk was sure that no one would see or hear them, the Englishman pulled the three items from his pockets.

Carter let out a low whistle as he took the diadem in his hands. LeBeau examined the dagger, his expression unreadable.

"You _are_ going to tell _le Colonel_, yes?" he asked, at last.

Newkirk didn't respond, prompting LeBeau to fold his arms.

"Pierre, you must tell him!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, come on, Louis! I 'elped save them from those smugglers, didn't I?" Newkirk countered. "Doesn't that entitle me to something?"

"It should entitle you to the credit you shall receive when you return them to where they rightfully belong!" LeBeau answered

"You know, Louis has a point," said Carter. "If you keep them, you won't be any better than those smugglers. Picking pockets is one thing; this is something completely different."

"Ah, _oui_! And have we ever said anything about your picking pockets? _Non_!"

"I expected this reaction from the two of you," Newkirk said, with a shake of his head. "Look, it's not like I stole them meself; I didn't know what was in those books when I took one! I just 'ad an inkling, and I ended up with these artifacts in me lap."

"_D'accord_, you did not steal them yourself," LeBeau admitted. "I am thankful that I can say that you would never do such a thing. But I know what is like to have your country pillaged; the Egyptians surely feel the same way. Look!" He held the dagger up so that Newkirk could see one of the carvings. "See this cartouche? It means that this knife belonged to a king! What would you have done if you had opened that book and found the Crown Jewels of your king?"

"I'd 'ave arranged for the Guv'nor to send them back to London in 'alf a minute," Newkirk admitted. "But this is different, Louis! Ancient Egyptian artifacts are in museums all over the world; maybe this wasn't even taken from Egypt!"

"And that makes it okay to add them to your personal collection?" Carter asked, a wan smile on his face. He had been checking for a cartouche on the diadem as he spoke, and had found one. To his surprise, the hieroglyphs in the cartouche had been scratched out, but he dismissed it and went on talking. It was only after a while that he realized the time. "Hey, look; shouldn't we discuss this later? It's going to be time for roll call soon; we should be up there in case Schultz comes in!"

"Right; 'elp me find a place to 'ide these…"

LeBeau helped, even if he was staunchly against the idea. He wasn't going to snitch, of course, but he had every intention of trying to wear down Newkirk into turning them in to Hogan himself.

In the end, the trio found an unused cashbox just big enough to hold all three items. Newkirk had the inspiration to bury the box just outside the radio room, and after the task was done, they headed back upstairs.

"I'm going to believe that it is only the excitement of your discovery that has you talking like this," LeBeau said, putting the frying pan back on the stove. "When reality sets in, you will hopefully come to your senses."

"Yeah, it's like LeBeau said earlier; we've never said a thing about your petty thefts and hustling," Carter added. "Hey, why not turn in those three pieces to a museum and get all the money you want by picking Burkhalter's pockets? It's a win-win situation!"

Newkirk slammed his fist onto the table; the frustrations that he had been holding back now began to reveal themselves.

"Cor, do you two 'onestly think I'm _proud_ of being a thief? You two 'ad it nice growin' up in Èpernay and Polliwog-"

"That's Bullfrog," Carter corrected him. He flinched as Newkirk glared in response.

"The point I'm trying to make is that you two 'ave never lived in Stepney. I learned to pick pockets in order to _survive_."

LeBeau stared at him, not even notice the burning crêpe on the stove beside him.

"I didn't mean it like that," Carter said, quietly.

"I know, Andrew," Newkirk sighed. It was his own fault for making it seem as though he tended not to worry in the first place.

Newkirk had been determined from the off to make it seem as though nothing ever worried him. But it certainly didn't mean that nothing did; normally, Newkirk locked his fears and worries to unreachable areas in his mind. Occasionally, his true self sometimes emerged when he waited for his comrades to return from missions, only to have them arrive late; he would often resort to annoyance and anger to cover up the fact that he was worried.

The Englishman silently cursed himself for letting his mask slip in front of LeBeau and Carter, but he had to admit that they might have been somewhat alert to his true nature, especially after the Stalag 6 fiasco. All the same, he was determined to try covering it up now.

"I'll be 'onest; I do enjoy thieving from the Germans," he said, managing a smirk. And it was true; at last, he could put his talents to a good, valid use in the service of his king—and his comrades. But he had been hoping that he could live an honest life once the war ended.

"Hey, do you smell something burning…?" Carter asked. He glanced at the stove and yelped.

LeBeau yelled something in his own tongue, which quickly awakened everyone in the barracks. Even Hogan emerged from his quarters with a bemused expression on his face.

"Don't throw it out, LeBeau; it'll make for a good foot-warmer," he teased, after sizing up the situation.

The Frenchman mumbled something, taking the burnt crêpe as a personal defeat.

Schultz soon entered the barracks, shivering from head to toe. The men roared in protest as he let the winter wind in, prompting the big man to close the door behind him.

"You must get rid of the cooking materials right away!" Schultz said. "Major Hochstetter is here with two civilians; he demands to have the men look at you all."

"Are you kidding, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "This is a POW camp, not a zoo; not even Hochstetter can come in here and have civilians observe us!"

"Jolly joker," Schultz said, through his shivering. "These men reported seeing a suspicious individual last night near the area of the destroyed ammunition dump, and Hochstetter once again suspects it was one of your men." He looked around, nervously. "Colonel Hogan, please tell me it wasn't one of your men out there last night."

Hogan looked Schultz in the eyes.

"Schultz, I can assure you that it wasn't one of my men out there last night," he replied, truthfully. _Just three_.

The big man nodded, not even noticing how Newkirk had considerably paled.

"Colonel Klink has managed to convince Major Hochstetter that you should not be forced to assemble outside in the cold," he said. "Believe me, it wasn't easy. The men will be coming into the barracks soon; please get everything in order and line up quickly!"

Schultz braced himself and headed back out into the cold, leaving a concerned barracks behind.

"Lost travelers, my foot," Hogan muttered. "I was afraid it might be an undercover plant. We can only hope that it was too dark for them to get a good look at Newkirk's face."

LeBeau turned to Newkirk, staring him down as Carter cast him a worried glance.

"_Regardez! Vous devez lui dire_!"

The benefit of knowing LeBeau for so long was that Newkirk could easily understand what he was saying, even if his knowledge of the French language was nonexistent.

"Louis, it's not going to change anything," Newkirk said. "It's like 'e said, maybe the flashlight wasn't enough for them to get a look at me!"

"All the same, I think we'd better put that book down the tunnel," said Carter. He grabbed it, threw it down the tunnel entrance, and promptly closed the trapdoor.

Kinch frowned, sensing that the trio was hiding something. Hogan must have sensed it, too, for his attention shifted to them, as well.

"_Dites-lui_, Pierre!" LeBeau insisted, and then launched into a rapid argument in his own tongue as he shoved all of his cooking equipment into their hiding places.

Newkirk responded with vehement insistence that there was no point, and Carter would add in his two cents and agree with whatever LeBeau was saying. Hogan quickly attempted to break up the argument, but it was only stopped when Hochstetter burst in from outside.

"Some trouble in paradise, Colonel Hogan?" the major sneered, as Klink, Schultz, and the two members of the smuggling ring followed him inside.

"Well, you're here, aren't you?" the American colonel replied, calmly, as the men began to line up.

"Bah!" Hochstetter snarled, turning to the two strangers. "Gentlemen, please tell me if any of these men was the one you saw last night."

"I did not get a look at the man, _Herr Major_," said the first man, whose face was partly uncovered. He turned to the second man, whose face was mostly obscured by a thick muffler; only his eyes were visible. "My friend here got a fair look; it was very dark out."

Newkirk had to hide his amazement; he was certain this had been the English voice he had heard last night, and now the man was talking with a flawless German accent.

"I will have your answer in a moment," the second man said. Newkirk recognized him as the one with the accent he couldn't identify—the man who was, unknown to him, Egyptian himself, hence the thick disguise to hide his nationality. He had gone one step further by temporarily altering his features in case he would be required to remove his muffler.

Newkirk, who knew nothing of the man's identity, could only stand and watch as the man traveled down the assembled line of men, glaring at each of them. The man's gaze only glanced over Carter and LeBeau, but focused as his eyes met those of Newkirk, who was at the end of the line. The Englishman's heart hammered in his chest; his fate hung in the balance of whether or not he could be recognized.

Newkirk's heartbeats echoed in his own ears as time seemed to freeze.


	3. Behind the Mask

_Author's note: Well, I received an overwhelming response to include the scene I had deleted from the main fic, and I was incredibly proud of the said scene, so I gave in to temptation and made it part of this chapter. I was originally going to keep the supernatural elements separate from the main fic, but… I'm going to go ahead, be daring, and post the whole thing on here. To those who aren't fans of the supernatural, I apologize in advance.  
The basic concept of the Soul Room isn't mine; it and the Egyptian character (and his low opinions of friendship) are borrowed from another one of my fandoms. However, I came up with the layout of Newkirk's Soul Room, and what the items inside were, along with their significance. Ma'at and Ammit, mentioned in this chapter, are two ancient Egyptian deities; Ma'at was the winged goddess of Righteousness, and Ammit was a creature who ate the souls of the wicked._

* * *

The Egyptian scanned the eyes of the men. He sensed deception in a lot of their souls as he walked down the line. But it was to be expected, of course—they were captured soldiers, and would likely be planning secrets of how to fight back. Let them fight, he decided; they were fighting for a good cause, unlike this Hochstetter. It sickened him to turn to Hochstetter for help in retrieving the lost item. The Egyptian had sensed the evil in the major's heart immediately—an evil that was eclipsed only by the evil of those Hochstetter blindly served.

_If I fed their souls to Ammit the Devourer as they deserved, poor Ammit would fall ill._

The man felt tainted, having gone to Hochstetter for help. But it was his duty to retrieve the items at any cost. Ma'at would surely understand, he hoped, as he continued inspecting the soldiers. She would also hopefully understand why he had been forced to infiltrate the wretched smuggling ring, as well.

He was distracted as his gaze fell on Newkirk. Ah, yes—here was the thief from last night, without a doubt!

_But I must make sure; I shall use _heka_ to look into his mind—his Soul Room. Then I can prepare what judgment I can pass on him_.

Time did indeed seem to stop as the man used the ancient _heka_ to unlock the true room of Newkirk's soul. The Egyptian looked around the room, which was fashioned into a small London nightclub—a Union Jack was hanging over a stage, upon which was a table full of simple magic tricks. A large, framed photograph of a younger, brown-haired girl was on the wall. The streets of London were visible outside the many windows in the room.

_The windows are a sign of how much he longs for his freedom_, the man realized.

He began to walk around the Soul Room, taking note of the lighting differed in the different areas of the room.

_The light represents his joys and happiness; the dark represents his fears and regrets. The stage is lit, as is the English flag; he takes great joy in performing and holds an admirable pride in his country and his king. This young lady's photograph is also lit; judging by her features, she must be related to him, and he cares for her deeply._

The Egyptian turned away from the picture of Mavis and proceeded to a darkened corner of the room. He was surprised to find stacks of money, jewelry, and the three missing Egyptian artifacts on a table. Also, there was a picture of Gretel.

_Intriguing… the thief carries the weight of his ill-gotten gains on his soul; he is not proud of his loot. And the woman in this picture must have caused him to do something he regretted_.

There was another object near the table of loot—a picture of an older woman. A dim light illuminated it.

_Ah, I see. He lost his mother and regrets that he wasn't able to help her. Her loss weighs on his soul, as well. He knows that she would not approve of his thievery; that appears to be one of the reasons why he takes no pride in it_.

He turned away from this corner, and an odd object by the far wall of the Soul Room caught the man's attention. It seemed highly out-of-place in a London nightclub.

_This… this is one of the bunk beds from his prison barracks_, he realized. _And it is illuminated by the light! But why would a man who loves his country and yearns for his freedom take joy in a bunk bed from his prison barracks?_

As he approached the bunk bed, he received his answer—the bottom bunk rose up, revealing the trapdoor and tunnel. The tunnel, too, was brightly illuminated; the Egyptian could see the radio room, the racks of disguises, and all of the other goodies down there. Also visible were more framed photographs.

_He risks his life to serve his country and king from his prison_, the man realized, visibly impressed. _Perhaps there is more to this man than I first suspected, but it still does not excuse his crimes against Ma'at_.

The man now took a closer look at the photographs in the tunnel—photographs of some of the men he had just seen in the barracks. This meant nothing to him; the thief clearly held these people close to him, but in the man's opinion, friendship was just an expression of a person's weakness. He had expect that a soldier, of all people, should know that one can only depend on oneself, but this thief-turned-soldier was either naïve or a fool to place his trust in others.

The Egyptian walked away from the tunnel and proceeded to the last, darkened corner of the Soul Room. Of all of the dark areas of the Soul Room, this corner was the darkest.

_His deepest fears will be hidden in this corner of the room_, he said to himself. _Let me see what they are_…

The corner seemed to go on forever—a sign of how deeply the Englishman buried his fears. But, at last, the man's hand found a photograph—a photograph that would represent the fear he so desperately wished to conceal.

The photograph's contents had not been what the Egyptian expected. The photograph appeared to be of a funeral parlor. On one side of the photograph was a civilian's coffin; the lid was open, revealing the ashen face of the young woman from the other photograph. On the other side of this photograph, a line of closed, military coffins were present, all but one of them draped with an American flag. The last one, shorter than the others, was draped with a French flag.

The man understood the thief's fear of losing the girl; she was family. But he could not fathom why the thief feared losing his comrades just as much when he had only known them for a few years.

_He fears the deaths of his comrades more than his own? Does he not realize that friendship is nothing but an illusion for the weak? Does he truly believe that his concern for them is returned? The fool! His wanton concern for his barracks-mates will be his undoing, mark my words_…

He placed the photograph back into the shadows and withdrew from the Soul Room, once again glaring into the corporal's eyes. He was none the wiser, unaware that the man had found out everything about him.

He suspected nothing; Newkirk still stood there, waiting for the ax to fall.

"Well?" Hochstetter prompted. "Do you recognize any of the men?"

The Egyptian shut his eyes for a moment, determining what to do. He did not wish to let Hochstetter succeed, either. He opened his eyes, and exchanged a brief glance with the member of the smuggling ring.

"No, _Herr Major_, I do not. Shall we take a look in the other barracks?"

"No," Hochstetter scowled, disappointed. "If they aren't in these barracks, they will not be in any of the other ones." He glared at Hogan, who once again responded with a cool glance that gave the impression that nothing could faze him.

"I told you, Major Hochstetter, no one ever escapes from Stalag 13," Klink grinned, pleased that the major had been proven wrong once again. "I knew right from the beginning that it couldn't be one of my prisoners—"

"Klink, shut up," the major sneered. "If you want something worthwhile to do, instruct these men to help clear the snow off of the Hammelburg Road; traffic is finding it difficult to move with the sudden snowfall."

The Egyptian's eyes narrowed, intrigued.

"Rest assured, I will have a work detail attend to the matter at once," Klink insisted. He, along with the entire barracks, braced themselves against the cold as Hochstetter opened the door to exit, the two men following behind him.

"_Kommandant_, I hope you don't intend to force us to clear the Hammelburg Road," Hogan said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't have to remind you about the Geneva Convention's rules of how prisoners of war aren't required to perform manual labor. And with weather like this—"

"I know the rules, Hogan," Klink said, annoyed. "I intend to reward the brave individuals who volunteer with an extra blanket each."

"And a hot meal," Hogan insisted.

"Fine, fine—a hot meal, as well…"

"And a hot water bottle, too."

"_Hogan_!"

"Sorry, Men; I tried…"

"_Herr Kommandant_, since I will be guarding the men, do I get a hot meal, too?" Schultz inquired.

"Oh, shut up…"

The promise of extra blankets and hot food seemed to convince some of the men that a little bit of shoveling snow might be worth it. A relieved Newkirk was among the volunteers; perhaps a little bit of time out in the cold would neutralize the sweat pouring down his back. And with Newkirk volunteering, Carter and LeBeau did, also; there were ten volunteers in total.

"Have the volunteers ready in fifteen minutes," Klink instructed. He and Schultz headed out into the cold.

It was only after they had left that Newkirk collapsed onto Carter's bunk.

"Cor," he whispered. "I thought I was done in that time."

"He sure gave you the eye," Carter said, with a shake of his head.

"The eye? Blimey, I thought 'e was staring right into me!" Newkirk sighed.

"We got lucky this time," said Hogan. "But what puzzles me is who they were; Hochstetter treated them as civilians. Why would they be dodging Germans last night and then report to them today?"

LeBeau and Carter both glanced at Newkirk, silently exchanging glances with him.

"All right, what's going on?" Hogan asked.

"And what's the deal with that book you were so keen on hiding?" Kinch added.

"There ain't any chance of me getting away with it any further," Newkirk realized. "Sir, I don't think they came 'ere to turn us in; there was… something in the book, as it were. I reckon they were desperate to get it back."

"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but what was it they wanted?" Hogan asked.

"Well, Sir, maybe you'd better see for yourself," the Englishman responded, opening the trapdoor.

The cashbox was dug up and opened once they were underground; Hogan took one look before speaking his mind.

"Newkirk, are you completely _insane_?"

"In me own defense, Sir, I 'ad no idea what was in that book when I took it…"

"I don't believe this," Kinch murmured. "I see it, but I don't believe it."

"Just how long were you planning to keep this secret?" Baker asked.

"Until I couldn't 'old out any longer," Newkirk admitted. "I reckon I should've expected that those blokes would want to recover something like this, but I never expected that they'd trace it 'ere to Stalag 13." He shrugged his shoulders. "What should I do, Sir?"

"You're going to get rid of those artifacts right away," Hogan said. "Schultz and Langenscheidt are probably going to be the only guards out there with ten men on a day like this. LeBeau, I want you, Carter, and Olsen to distract them long enough for Newkirk to bury those things by the side of the road; keep track of where they are. I'll contact the Underground and have them recover the artifacts tonight; they'll be on their way to a safe house, where they'll be stored until the end of the war."

"Easy come, easy go," Newkirk sighed. "I really don't think I would've kept them; Louis and Andrew were beginning to make sense."

"Just get that gold out of here," Hogan said, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Better put them in here," said Carter, handing Newkirk a small sack to keep them in.

"Right-o," the Englishman responded. He placed the sack full of artifacts in one of the deep pockets of his RAF-issue overcoat. "We'd better get going; old Schultzie will be waiting."

Hogan sat down on one of the benches in the tunnels as Newkirk led Carter, LeBeau, and Olsen out, suppressing a sigh. There may never have been an escape at Stalag 13, but there certainly had never been a dull day, either.

* * *

Hogan's prediction of Schultz and Langenscheidt being the only guards willing to go out in the cold had been correct. The two guards kept their eyes on the men as they began to clear the snow off of the road.

"We've got a problem," Carter said, looking around. "Every spot looks the same; how are we supposed to keep track of the place where we hide those things?"

"I'll draw a ruddy 'X' over it with me shovel," Newkirk countered, tossing a few shovelfuls of snow off of the road.

"Very funny; you know we cannot return to camp with them," LeBeau said, rolling his eyes. He flinched as the wind kicked up, blowing more snow from the ground.

"Yeah, the colonel would be furious," Olsen agreed. "Maybe we could use a tree as a landmark."

"Yeah, but they all look the same," Carter said, glancing around. "They're all covered with snow! I think we'd be better off having someone…" He trailed off as Schultz ambled towards them. "Here he comes. Langenscheidt is watching the others; we may as well bury the stuff here and put a few rocks nearby."

The others nodded, pretending to act nonchalant as Schultz approached them.

"I don't suppose that after this is all over, you can spare me some of your coffee?" the big man pleaded. "Please? I cannot remember the last time I had to be in this kind of weather."

"Listen to 'im," Newkirk said, with a mock shake of his head. "Schultzie's supposed to be one of the toughest guards at Stalag 13, and 'e can't even take a little cold…"

"A little cold? Newkirk, the weather report says that this is one of the worst cold spells we have had in _years_."

"You know, Schultz, if anyone should be complaining about the cold, it's Louis," Carter said. "You've got all that blubber to keep you warm. But just look at poor Louis; he's skinny as a rail and small enough to get stuck in even the smallest snowdrift! Do you see him complaining?"

"That's right; I have not complained!" LeBeau said, as Newkirk began to back away ever so casually and started to dig the small hole by the side of the road. "And just look at my poor hands!"

The Frenchman pulled his gloves off and held his hands out to Schultz.

"Careful!" Carter said, as Schultz moved to examine them. "You don't want his fingers to fall off!"

"Oh, no!" Schultz agreed. "Without his fingers, he cannot cook!"

"Are they all there?" LeBeau asked, turning his face away. "Oh, I am afraid to look!"

"Gee, it's hard to tell with all the snow blowing around," said Carter. "Olsen, what do you think?"

"Hmm…" the dark-haired sergeant said. "Well, I think they're all there… for now."

"For now?" LeBeau echoed, in mock-horror.

"Yeah. I'm not a medic like Wilson, of course, so what do I know?" Olsen asked. "Maybe they'll be fine if you put those gloves back on."

"_Ja_, _ja_—put your gloves back on," said Schultz. "Here, I will help you…"

LeBeau had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as Schultz slid the gloves back on his hands.

"Maybe LeBeau should have another pair of gloves on, just in case," Carter said. "You know, you can't be too careful when you're dealing with frostbite. My mom always said—"

"_Ja_, maybe you can wear my gloves over yours," Schultz said, cutting him off. He started to remove his own gloves. "Would you also like to borrow one of my extra overcoats?"

"Oh, it is best if I don't," LeBeau said, pretending to give it some thought.

"Yeah," Carter agreed. "Poor little Louis might get lost for a _week_ in one of your overcoats, Schultz."

"We couldn't have that; Colonel Hogan would be furious!" Olsen added.

Newkirk, in the meantime, had come close to completing the hole. Neither he, the others, nor Schultz noticed the small truck driving towards them, near the other end of the detail, where Langenscheidt was standing. The truck was fashioned much like Schnitzer's dog truck—two metal doors in the back of the truck were closed by a bolt.

The truck paused several yards away from the work detail. The sound caused Langenscheidt to turn, and he was surprised to see the same two men that Hochstetter had brought with him earlier.

"_Guten Morgen_," he said, puzzled, as the men got out of the truck and walked towards him. "Can I help you?"

"You can, Chum," the gruff one replied, his accent now English again. Without warning, he seized the rifle from the stunned corporal.

Langenscheidt cried out as the Egyptian man pressed his fingers on his neck, seeking his pressure points. The corporal dropped to the ground like a stone within seconds, unconscious.

"_Was_? _Was_?" Schultz exclaimed, distracted by Langenscheidt's cry. He gasped, seeing the gruff man pointing the corporal's rifle at him.

"All of you, get down on the ground and put your hands over your heads," the man ordered. "You, Sergeant—drop your weapon!"

"It-It isn't even loaded!" the big man stammered, but he obeyed anyway, getting down on the ground. The prisoners followed suit, not even sure of what to make of this.

"No one move," the man ordered. He turned to the Egyptian man and gave him a silent nod.

The man's feet made hardly any sound as he walked across the snowy road, glaring down at the cowering prisoners. One or two shuddered involuntarily from a mixture of fear and the cold. He arrived where Newkirk was lying; the shovel he had been using was still beside him.

His expression unchanging, the man bent down, placing his fingers on Newkirk's neck in the same way he had done to Langenscheidt. The Englishman was unconscious before he could even utter a sound. The Egyptian man took him, artifacts and all, and dragged him towards the smuggler. He silently nodded, assuring him that the corporal did indeed have the treasures on his person.

"You men stay like that for the next five minutes," the gruff smuggler ordered Schultz and the prisoners.

"_Ja_-_Ja_," Schultz stammered. "We-we will not move for five minutes!"

The man did not reply, taking Langenscheidt's rifle with him as he helped the Egyptian drag the unconscious corporal away.

LeBeau, however, was not about to listen to the men. He was the first one to dare to take a look around once he heard the truck pull away, and he immediately noticed his missing companion.

"They took Pierre!" he whispered, quietly.

Only Carter heard him, and the sergeant lifted his head in horror, a brief look around confirming the Frenchman's words.


	4. Never What They Seem

After he got over the initial shock, Carter quickly turned to Olsen, starting to let him know about what had just happened. But LeBeau had already gotten to his feet, tearing towards the woods. Schultz didn't even look up, still trying to count out five minutes.

Carter got up, tearing after LeBeau.

"Louis, what are you doing?" he said, once they were part-way into the woods.

"Those _bêtes_ have Pierre!" the Frenchman retorted. "If you think for one moment that I would let them get away—"

"I _know_ why you're doing this," Carter said, cutting him off. "What I want to know is why you headed into the woods!"

"Because there is no point in chasing after the truck on the road; I am hoping that the snow will be slowing them down enough for me to intercept them if I cut through the woods! I need to stop them before they get into town; I cannot go into Hammelburg in my uniform!"

"_We're_ going to intercept them," the American replied.

LeBeau looked back at him and gave him a grateful nod.

"Of course, Colonel Hogan's going to be furious when he hears about what we did," Carter added. "But since he technically didn't order us to not rescue—"

"Never mind that now; there is no telling what they will do to Pierre if we do not act now!" LeBeau retorted. "Please tell me you have some sort of weapon on you!"

"Afraid not," Carter said. "I only thought we were going to be on a work detail; all I have with me are two lousy smokescreen charges."

"With any luck, that will be enough; keep one ready!"

"Right," the sergeant replied, pulling the charge out of his pocket, along with a lighter.

LeBeau led Carter to the edge of the wood again, near the road. They both froze, struggling to hear the sounds of the truck.

"I think I hear the truck coming," Carter whispered.

"Then get going; we will only have one chance!" LeBeau ordered.

"Right!"

Carter lit the smokescreen charge and threw it out into the road. Smoke soon filled the area, and LeBeau distinctly heard the squeal of the truck's brakes.

"Now, André!" he exclaimed, running for the truck.

Carter was behind him as LeBeau quietly dashed to the back door of the truck and opened it. Newkirk was inside, unconscious, propped up against a couple of spare tires.

LeBeau cursed the two men, jumping into the truck. He grabbed a tarp stored in the truck and placed it on his unconscious friend. Getting the idea, Carter jumped in and helped LeBeau carry Newkirk out.

"To the woods!" LeBeau instructed. "We must find a place to hide from them until it is safe to return to Stalag 13!"

"Snow's picking up!" Carter said, walking blindly through the smokescreen outside. "That'll help cover our tracks, but it'll make hiding out there a lot tougher!"

They had made it into the woods as the smuggler and the Egyptian infiltrator reached the back of the open truck. The smuggler cursed, trying to determine where they had gone.

"Don't drive yourself mad trying to find them," the Egyptian said, calmly. He was finding this to be a most interesting situation; testing his adversaries was a favorite pastime of his. "I will be able to locate them later, but we must hide ourselves; there will be a search for us and this truck. We should make ourselves scarce for the next several hours."

"What about the corporal and the artifacts?" the gruff smuggler countered. "They'll go back to Stalag 13; we won't be able to get close to them again!"

The Egyptian looked up at the falling snow. It was picking up, promising to be an even worse blizzard than that of the day before.

"Somehow, I doubt they will get very far in those few hours," he mused. "Their progress will be slow, impeded by the blizzard. And they will stay away from the road because they know we will be waiting for them; they will subsequently get delayed or lost. We will come back for the corporal and the artifacts tonight."

"And then I'll kill the ones who interfered," the gruff man vowed.

* * *

Colonel Hogan was not a man who normally displayed his anger—on most occasions, that is. That was the reason why everyone gave him a very wide berth upon his reaction to finding out from Olsen about what happened. Olsen had told Schultz that the men had taken Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter; in case something happened, they had not wanted LeBeau and Carter to be charged with an escape attempt. But Olsen had, of course, told the truth to Hogan. And Hogan was most displeased.

Officer's dignity prevented the colonel from unleashing his anger in front of his men; quiet curses instead issued from within his office as he sought to curse various people for various reasons: Newkirk, for stealing the artifacts, the travelers, for stealing Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter, for going after them, and, lastly, he cursed himself for not seeing it coming from a mile away, as he usually was able to do so.

_What a time to get mental snow blindness_, he hissed at himself. _Worse yet, I've still got it. I don't have a plan to get them back. I don't even know where they are!_

Schultz now entered the barracks again, utterly worried about the three missing soldiers.

"How's Langenscheidt?" Kinch asked.

"He is awake, but feeling rather stiff," the big man replied. "But I came here to tell Colonel Hogan that the Big Shot wants to see him, and is he ever upset!"

"So is Colonel Hogan," said Baker. "But I can try to see if he has a moment—"

"I heard," Hogan said, coming out of the office. "What does he want?"

"He is not convinced that the kidnapping was a kidnapping," Schultz explained. "He thinks that it was just a cover-up for an escape."

"Which idiot put that idea into his head?" Hogan asked.

"Major Hochstetter; he is in the office, too," Schultz replied. "He thinks the two men who were here were really Underground agents."

"I'm sorry I asked," the colonel muttered. But Schultz had given him an idea. "I'll be out in a minute Schultz; can you wait outside?"

"Wait outside? But Colonel Hogan, there's a blizzard out there!"

"Well, if you'd rather hear the plan I've got…"

"I'll wait outside," the big man said, hurriedly heading back outside.

"You have an idea, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"Half an idea, which is better than none," he replied. "I know those weren't Underground agents, but see if you can get in touch with the real Underground—whomever you can contact. Tell them what happened and to spread the word. Have them report if they see the truck, the men, or our boys. If we can just figure out where they're headed, we might be able to have an arm of the Underground intercept them."

"I'll try, Colonel," said Kinch. "But I'm not so sure about how much the Underground can get done in this weather."

"And that's why it's only half an idea," Hogan said. He headed outside to follow Schultz to Klink's office as Kinch headed down to the radio room.

"Ah, Colonel Hogan," Klink said, as the American arrived, brushing snow off of his jacket. "I heard the report about this supposed kidnapping—"

"I assure you, Colonel, it's not an escape," Hogan said. "My men were shanghaied, plain and simple, and I'm willing to help in whatever way I can to find them."

"Impossible; who would bother to kidnap _your_ men?" Hochstetter sneered. "I am convinced that those two were Underground agents."

"Then that means that the escape was your fault!" Klink insisted, glaring at Hochstetter through his monocle. "You insisted on bringing those men here; you enabled them to carry out this nefarious deed!"

"I told you, it's not an escape!" Hogan insisted. His temper had already run thin, but he was forcing himself to remain calm in front of Klink and Hochstetter. There was no need for them to see how intimidating he could be… not yet, anyway. "_Kommandant_, look at my track record! Whenever there's been an escape, don't I admit it?"

"After intensive question, yes," Klink admitted. "And then we usually convince you to help us recover the escapees. I trust you will help us again?"

"I told you I'd do what I could to help," Hogan said. "And they aren't escapees; they're kidnap victims! I think it's highly insensitive of you to be so suspicious, _Kommandant_, when three of my men might be in mortal danger!"

"Mortal danger? Bah!" Hochstetter said. "I'll find those three escapees, and _then_ they'll be in mortal danger. Tell me, which are the three missing men?"

"Sergeant Carter, Corporal Newkirk, and Corporal Strudel—I mean, LeBeau," Schultz answered. "Oh, poor LeBeau. I hope those men won't break his fingers off; he was already so cold before he was taken…"

"I only wanted the names," Hochstetter responded, through gritted teeth. "Rest assured, Klink, I will surround this area with a ring of steel until I find them and the agents."

He strode out of the office door, somewhat subdued.

"I must admit, it's nice to see him squirm," Klink said, sitting back down. "He knows he will be in trouble for bringing those agents here in the first place. But that also means that I will be in trouble for those three escapees. Hogan, I am demanding your cooperation!"

"_Kommandant_, I'm telling you the truth—those two visitors are kidnappers!"

"And how are you so sure about this, Hogan?" Klink asked, crossing his arms. "You weren't even there to see it happen. And Schultz here had his face down the entire time; there is no way of knowing whether or not those three men went willingly."

"_Herr Kommandant_, they threatened me with—"

"Langenscheidt's rifle—I know, I know. Schultz, if you had kept _your_ rifle loaded, this may not have even happened!"

"I beg to differ, _Herr Kommandant_; they told me to drop my weapon. I wouldn't have been able to-"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Sergeant Olsen saw the whole thing," Hogan said, interrupting the spat before it went off on another tangent. "You can question him."

"Rest assured, I will," Klink answered. "As far as the three men are concerned, I will send out some of my guards to check the area near the Hammelburg Road. I am sure Major Hochstetter will have inspected everywhere else. In his crazed zeal, he might find them by the time I get my men out there."

"Crazed zeal? Hah! It's an act, _Kommandant_, and you're falling for it," Hogan said, trying a new tactic. Klink wasn't going to believe that the kidnappers weren't members of the Underground without a believable story. Not only was the truth difficult to believe, it would be impossible to explain without getting into trouble. "Think about it. Hochstetter brings two men here on the pretext of finding saboteurs. He knows there's never been an escape from here, so why bother? Then the same two men kidnap three of my men, and Hochstetter comes in here, claiming that it's an escape! Surely you can read between the lines!"

"I can?"

"Of course! Hochstetter's still upset by your no-escape record, so he worked with the kidnappers to make it look like it was an escape, when, really, he knows they were kidnapped. The kidnappers will probably give him the location of where they're holding my men; Hochstetter recaptures them, there goes your record, and there _you_ go to the Russian Front!"

Klink went rigid in his seat.

"And if it is this cold here, it must be even _colder_ there!" Schultz added, shuddering. "_Herr Kommandant_, your fingers might fall off!"

"Quiet, Schultz!" Klink ordered. "Hogan, where do you think they could have gone?"

"_Kommandant_, if I knew, I would've told you," Hogan said, being entirely truthful this time. "Let's just hope that your guards can find them in this weather."

"Schultz! Get a special formation of guards ready to search the area near the Hammelburg Road!" the German colonel ordered. "Tell them to question everyone they meet on the road! You know what truck to look for?"

"_Ja_; Langenscheidt gave me a description of it. He was closest, and he—"

"Go, Schultz, _go_!"

"At once, _Herr Kommandant_!" the big man said, saluting before fleeing. He was not looking forward to going back out into the cold, but he was willing to put up with it to find the missing soldiers.

"Is that all, _Kommandant_?" Hogan asked.

"For now; I will let you know when I am ready to question Sergeant Olsen. Dismissed."

Hogan saluted, as well, and headed back to the barracks. He had succeeded in getting Klink's guards to look for the missing men, but the thought wasn't comforting at all; his sixth sense was telling him that this was going to be a lot harder than he hoped it would be.

* * *

The Egyptian man's sixth sense had come true; the increasing intensity of the blizzard had proved to be too much for LeBeau and Carter, who had been trudging through the accumulating snow, carrying the unconscious Newkirk. But they had been miles from camp, and were making very poor time due to the weather and the load.

Forced to stop, the American and the Frenchman set up the tarp they had taken and hung it over some low-hanging tree branches to serve as a makeshift tent. It only served as a mild shield against the snow and wind, and the two men were both very cold and miserable.

Minutes turned to hours as the snow continued to fall. They had not been discovered; the increasing blizzard had forced both Klink's guards and Hochstetter's men to take a break from the search. The search would soon be starting up again; the blizzard was moving on. But LeBeau and Carter had other things on their minds; they had been trying, without success, to get Newkirk to come to.

"He's going to freeze if we don't get him conscious!" Carter worried. "Maybe it's because he took the treasure…"

"_Quoi_?" LeBeau asked, his eyebrows arching.

"Oh, you know… the mummy's curse?" Carter went on. "I remember this movie I saw with Mary Jane several years ago; it was about this Egyptian mummy named Imhotep who came back to life after someone read a spell. He ran around killing people because some girl—"

"André, it was just a film!" LeBeau responded, with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah, but what about that tomb that was found back in the '20s?" he challenged. "They opened it up, found mummies and treasures, and people started dying mysteriously."

"Ah, _oui_? And what about my grandfather?" LeBeau countered. "He funded an Egyptian expedition, and they found a king's tomb, with treasures and mummies. He was there when they opened the coffin."

"And wait; let me guess—he's dead now, right?"

"Well, yes—"

"Aha!"

"Aha, nothing; he was over a hundred years old when he passed!" LeBeau countered, with another roll of his eyes.

"Oh…" Carter said, pausing for a moment. "Wait! Maybe the curse is dormant, passing down from generation to generation until it finally decides to strike! Maybe you've got it!"

"André, believe me, if I drop dead now, it will be because you talked me to death!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to look out for you!"

"Look out for me? I think you have been in the cold too long, André; you're starting to ramble more than what is normal for you!"

"Louis…?"

"Look, I'm just saying that maybe we should have an open mind about certain things," Carter said. "There are things in this world that we can't explain, and this just may be one of them!"

"Oi, Andrew? Louis?"

"_Oui_, there may be mysterious happenings. But why believe in ancient tales and curses?"

"Legends do have some basis of fact. And they teach lessons! Take the Sioux legend of The Mysterious Butte; it's a legend that tells us why we shouldn't go around stealing artifacts—"

"Could you two stop your ruddy nattering for 'alf a minute?"

The American and the Frenchman both paused, but then turned to face the groggy Englishman.

"Pierre!" LeBeau exclaimed, helping his friend sit up.

Newkirk flinched as LeBeau helped him; his arms and legs were still rather numb.

"Cor blimey; what 'appened?" he asked. "And why is it so cold?"

"Those two smugglers who were in our barracks tried to kidnap you," Carter said. "You feeling alright?"

"I'll let you know," Newkirk murmured.

"They had you in a truck," LeBeau went on. "André and I got you out, but the blizzard increased. We're still in the woods near the Hammelburg Road; we have been trying to get you to wake up for hours!"

"We're snowed in out 'ere?" Newkirk asked, incredulously. "Charming…"

"Actually, I think the worst has passed," said Carter. "It's dark out, but I think the snow has moved on. We probably should get our bearings and head back to camp."

"_Oui_; _le Colonel_ will be worried," LeBeau agreed.

"One problem," Newkirk said, upset at being such a bother. "Me 'ead is awake, but me legs ain't; I can't even feel them."

"So, we'll help you," Carter offered.

Between the two of them, the American and the Frenchman supported the Englishman up, helping him to stand up and allowing Newkirk to somewhat clumsily amble forward. It was highly embarrassing for him that the other two had to rescue him and help him walk; he would hopefully be able to live this down afterward.

The winter night had come quickly; it was still miserably cold, and the wind still blew, but the snowfall itself had tapered off, as Carter had predicted. There were even some gaps in the clouds; a few stars were visible in the patches of night sky.

The soldiers' feet crunched across the snow as they made their way through the forest. Carter had taken a moment to climb up a tree to get their position. They had just started to continue on their way when they heard a stick crack from being stepped on.

"Imhotep…!" Carter whispered, his eyes wide. "I think we should leave the artifacts here and get going!"

"Use that other smokescreen charge!" LeBeau hissed. "We need to get away!"

"Right!"

Carter ignited the charge just as he heard another footfall coming from the direction that led back towards the road. Tossing the charge, he and LeBeau helped Newkirk away from the area under the cover of smoke.

"Just hold on, Pierre!" LeBeau said. "We will get you to safety!"

"We'd better turn left here," said Carter.

"Andrew, are you sure?" Newkirk asked, looking behind them. He shuddered slightly; it was as though he could sense someone's gaze piercing through the cloud of smoke as though it wasn't even there.

"We have to throw them off our trail!" the American answered. "Besides, we can't afford to let them—"

He stopped short as he found himself staring down the barrel of Langenscheidt's stolen rifle. He was only vaguely aware of Newkirk and LeBeau letting out gasping curses as he looked up to see both of the two smugglers.

Little Deer had unwittingly led them back into the hunters' clutches.

* * *

_Author's note: The movie that Carter was referring to was, of course, the original 1932 version of _The Mummy_, and the tomb discovery was that of Tutankhamun. The legend he referred to is a real Lakota Sioux legend_.


	5. Our Situation Has Not Improved

_Author's note: If anything seems like a reference to the first _Pirates of the Caribbean _movie, it probably is. Also, I was once again seeking code names for the Heroes; for Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau, I used the one-time code names they used in the series. As far as I can tell, Carter never had a code name used for him, so I ended up giving him a code name that was a shortened version of his Sioux name, which, I think, he would like to have used, since Schultz and Klink are the only Germans who know of his Sioux name._

* * *

"We will take the Englishman back now," the Egyptian man said.

"Why do you want him?" LeBeau shot back, being the first one to find his tongue. "He did not know of those treasures in that book! It was an honest mistake! Take back the treasures and leave him alone!"

"It ain't just the treasures," said the gruff smuggler. "Our instructions were clear; bring the treasures, and bring the man who took 'em—alive."

"Can't we work something out here?" Carter asked. "See, we'd like to keep him; he's grown on us."

"Andrew!" Newkirk hissed. "Stay out of this, you ruddy fool!"

"A Cockney, eh?" the gruff man replied, hearing Newkirk's true accent for the first time.

"Yeah, that's right," Carter retorted. "You're English, too, judging by your accent; you know, you should have some respect for a fellow countryman when there's a war on—"

"Andrew, leave off!" Newkirk said. "Look, this is between me and 'im; you and Louis get out of 'ere."

"_Jamais!_" LeBeau retorted.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your friend's instructions, Monsieur," the Egyptian said to the Frenchman. "You are in no position to bargain with us. You are unarmed and have no means by which to enforce any demands."

"But we are not cowards so as to abandon him," LeBeau spat.

"Yeah, we're a package deal!" Carter agreed.

"And I'm gettin' tired of you, and fast," the gruff smuggler replied, pressing the tip of Langenscheidt's rifle to Carter's neck.

"No! Stop!" Newkirk said, going pale. "Look, I'm the one you want, right? Let these two go, and I'll come quietly. But 'arm even one 'air on either of their 'eads, and you'll wish you've never crossed paths with me."

"You know what he said about your mates not being in a position to bargain?" the man replied, indicating the Egyptian. "I've got news for you; you ain't, either." He glared at Carter. "Say goodbye to this one."

The Egyptian watched as Newkirk paled further.

_What will you do, Thief? Will you take the bullet yourself so as to stop your greatest fear from coming true?_

Newkirk was definitely considering it, but Carter spoke up again before anyone could make another move.

"Parley!" he exclaimed. He was supporting Newkirk with one arm, so he used his free hand to pull out a white handkerchief. "I invoke the right of parley!"

"Ah, _oui; moi aussi_!" LeBeau said, cluing in. "_Parlez_! You must take us to your head; we shall bargain with him!"

"What are you two doing?" Newkirk hissed. _You're supposed to go back to Stalag 13, not come with me! They're going to kill you; can't you see that?_

The English smuggler looked just as put out.

"Parley… _Parley_!" he sputtered. "What makes you think you can demand that?"

The Egyptian smirked behind his muffler; he found this to be highly amusing.

"It seems that we must grant their right to parley," he said, curious to see how this would play out. "This does, of course, take into account that they shall come quietly…"

His gaze shifted to the American and the Frenchman, who both gave a nod.

"Come," he said, satisfied. "Keep in mind that you have given your word."

"I am passionately opposed to this," the English smuggler insisted, not letting go of Langenscheidt's rifle. "And I don't think Mr. Alistair would appreciate it, either."

"He can deal with them as he sees fit," the Egyptian replied. "Perhaps they can even be beneficial to the cause."

If it wasn't for the fact that Newkirk was too worried about his two companions, he would have dwelled more on the fact that there seemed to be another Englishman involved in this smuggling operation. But the corporal's gaze was still on his friends as they quietly helped him to where their two captors had parked the truck.

The three were locked inside the dark interior of the back, and the truck drove off.

"Well, here we go…" Carter sighed. "Wonder where we're going?"

"Never mind that," said LeBeau. "What is important is that we are together, and can work to find a way out of this."

"You blooming idiots!" Newkirk snapped, causing his two companions to stare at him as though he was crazy. "Why'd you 'ave to go and blurt out that 'parley' of yours! You shouldn't 'ave been 'ere in the first place; you should've gone back to the Guv'nor and 'elped 'im come up with something when they took me! But, no; you two just 'ad to play ruddy 'eroes! Now we're _all_ captives of these madmen!"

"Hey, give us a little credit for trying to rescue you!" Carter retorted, sounding somewhat affronted. "Gee, you try to help someone, and you get zero gratitude…"

Newkirk couldn't help but notice that LeBeau was being rather quiet. He couldn't see his companion in the darkness of their prison, and, initially, expected that his silence was due to an attempt to not go into a state of claustrophobia-induced panic. He then realized that he could somehow sense the Frenchman's gaze upon him.

Newkirk bit his lip. It was as he had suspected earlier; LeBeau would have been the first one to discover the truth behind Newkirk's façade. Newkirk's show of anger seemed to have worked all these days, but LeBeau had grown wiser since some of their latest misadventures; Newkirk's frantic search for him during the Stalag 6 fiasco had been but the final conformation for LeBeau.

"I am sorry, _mon pote_," the Frenchman said at last, quietly. _I am sorry that I am making you worry. But do not think—even for a minute—that you are the only one who worries. You cannot stop me from wanting to help you, and I am sure André feels the same way. We have a better chance of getting through this if we are together_.

The English corporal didn't reply, neither to the spoken words, nor to the nonverbal communication.

The truck suddenly jerked to a stop, and the two men now ushered the trio out.

"We are switching trucks," the Egyptian explained. "You see, we are aware that the authorities will be looking for us."

"I 'ope they find you…" Newkirk snarled. He turned to his two companions and lowered his voice as they walked towards the second truck.

"Michael!" the gruff smuggler called out. "You got the lorry ready?"

"I've 'ad it ready for the past 'our, Mr. Davis," came the distinct air of a Cockney accent.

Newkirk's mouth fell open in surprise. Not only was there yet another Englishman involved, but he was another East Ender! The young man seemed even younger than Newkirk—by about seven years. The corporal didn't recognize him—not that he had expected to, of course.

"We've caught the thief," Davis said, indicating Newkirk. "He's a Cockney, like you. Would never guess it, though; he can speak German like a native."

"And 'ow did the other two blokes come to be 'ere?" the young man named Michael asked. "I thought you said there was only one wot done it…"

"They have invoked the right of parley; they wish to meet with Mr. Alistair," the Egyptian replied.

"But 'e's French!" Michael said, pointing to the emblems on LeBeau's uniform. "You know the Guv'nor always complains about the French brigands bein' our rivals!"

"Hold your tongue, _Gosse_!" LeBeau snarled. "I am no brigand!"

"And I ain't no ruddy goose!"

"'e didn't call you a ruddy goose; 'e called you a ruddy brat," Newkirk translated, as LeBeau rolled his eyes. "And though you're me own kind, I'm inclined to agree with 'im!"

Michael glared at Newkirk.

"Enough," said Davis. "Michael, you keep an eye on these three in the back of the lorry. You can discuss about your alliances all you want."

He headed for the front of the truck while the young man led the three soldiers into the truck at gunpoint. The Egyptian locked the back of the truck before joining Davis in the front.

"Right; you lot keep quiet," Michael ordered. "There's no escaping me so long as I'm 'olding the gun."

"Is he serious?" Carter murmured. "If it weren't for the other two guys, we'd have no problem getting away from him…"

"Just tell me one thing," Newkirk said, ignoring Carter. "What's a young lad like you doing with scum like this? What would your family think of you?"

"Ain't got no family; I don't even 'ave a last name," Michael replied. "I grew up on the streets of Whitechapel, nicking wallets to live. I tried robbing Mr. Alistair one day when 'e was in London, but 'e caught me. Took me in, 'e did—said if I 'elped with 'is smuggling operation, I'd get to travel all over the world, eat all the food I wanted, and 'ave more money than I would know what to do with. I'd just been drafted into the RAF; I didn't want to go, so I took 'im up on 'is offer. Been working for 'im since '39."

"Lousy coward," Newkirk spat. Deep down, however, he was rather disturbed by the young man's story, mainly because it was so similar to his own. By the time he had been drafted, though, Newkirk had, at least, been trying to make an honest living. But he wasn't sure that, at the time, he would have fully refused an offer like that from this Alistair, whoever he was, just to get out of the war. Viewed with hindsight, of course, he wouldn't have changed a thing; life in Stalag 13 had its moments of fun, in addition to missions. And, of course, no amount of money could ever equal the worth the friends he had made. But there was still the chance that it could have been him in Michael's position, had it been a different time and place.

"I don't suppose you know where they're taking us?" Carter asked Michael.

"Of course I know, but you're crackers if you think I'm going to tell you. The Guv'nor will see you when we arrive at our destination."

"Yeah?" Newkirk asked. "We've got a Guv'nor of our own, just so you know. And 'e ain't going to take very kindly to our disappearance."

"And I say that 'e is never going to find you," the younger man retorted. "You will be meeting Mr. Alistair by tomorrow morning. And the first thing 'e's going to do is get rid of your two mates after they 'ave their parley."

Newkirk paled again, his smugness gone as he returned to his worries. Yes, there was nothing that could equal the worth of his friends—not even his own life. But he was ready to trade that, if that was what it came down to.

"We will get through this, _mon pote_," LeBeau said, quietly. "You must believe we will."

"I'm finding it a bit difficult to do so," Newkirk replied, dryly.

"Stop your nattering," Michael ordered. "All of you, stop. I'd like some peace and quiet 'ere, if you don't mind."

The trio grumbled, not about to take orders from him. Newkirk did eventually fall silent by his own free will as he lost himself further in his thoughts. LeBeau kept his silence solely to keep his mind on something other than the fact that they were in such a small space, and Carter just stared blankly into the darkness, wondering if Hogan could, by some miracle, help them out of this conundrum.

* * *

Hogan himself was praying for a miracle as the day went by. Both Hochstetter and Klink had been forced to recall their men due to the blizzard. The search had continued once the weather had cleared that night, but Hogan knew that the delay would have been enough for the kidnappers to get away.

"They sure went through a lot of trouble to get Newkirk," he said, as he paced the radio room. "If this was just about the artifacts, they could've taken them and went on their way. But why'd they have to take Newkirk?"

His first instinct was that the smugglers thought that Newkirk knew too much and were planning to silence him. But that hadn't made sense, either; they could have shot him and left, instead of taking him. Or were they trying to find out how much he knew about the smuggling before they disposed of him?

His first instinct also was to fear for Carter and LeBeau; if all the smugglers wanted was information from Newkirk, they would sooner kill the two rescuers than look at them.

His second instinct was to worry about what to do if, by some miracle, he found out where Newkirk was being taken. Hochstetter was staying at Stalag 13, much to the ire of everyone—including Hochstetter himself. The roads were not clear enough for him to leave, and Klink seemed most disdainful as he gave the order to prepare the guest quarters for the major. But Hochstetter's presence also meant that using the emergency tunnel was out of the question; even if they received information as to Newkirk's whereabouts, they would not be able to leave or do anything from here.

Kinch and Baker listened to their commanding officer patiently as he paced the room, but Kinch was eventually distracted by an incoming message.

"Red Riding Hood to Papa Bear—come in, Papa Bear!"

"Go ahead, Red Riding Hood; this is Home Plate," Kinch said, as Hogan now focused on the conversation.

"I wish to report a visual sighting of Phantom, Big Bad Wolf, and Little Deer," Red Riding Hood replied. "All three of them are in the hands of the Bandits; our man saw them being transferred from one truck to another just outside of Hammelburg about an hour ago."

"They're alive…" Hogan sighed. He was only partially relieved; yes, they were alive, but for how long?

"Thank you for your information," Kinch said. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Yes; another unit saw the truck driving out of Hammelburg, heading northeast. I had visual confirmation of them continuing in this direction on all units monitoring the road."

Baker checked the map as Red Riding Hood listed the locations of the truck sightings.

"At this rate, it looks like they're heading for Berlin," he announced.

"Berlin…" Hogan repeated. "We don't know if that's a stopover, or if they've got plans there. Either way, it may be our one chance to get them back, and we've got to take that chance; without Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter, there is no operation. Kinch, tell Red Riding Hood to have the Berlin Underground on standby; have them keep tabs on the truck and the boys."

"Right, Sir," Kinch replied, and relayed the information.

"Understood," Red Riding Hood insisted. "Over and out."

Kinch set the transmitter aside as Hogan resumed pacing.

"I guess there's nothing more we can do, other than playing the waiting game," the staff sergeant said. "With Hochstetter staying for the night, we'll never make it out of here."

"True, but with so much on the line, I don't want to depend solely on the Berlin Underground," Hogan responded.

"But what else can we do, Sir?" Baker asked, bewildered. "Our hands are tied. The only way we could get to Berlin is if we could convince Klink to let us go."

"And the only way for that to happen would be to say that we know that's where those three are," Kinch added. "How would we explain where we got the information? We'd need to get someone from the Underground to phone in an anonymous tip—and even then, Hochstetter would be on it before Klink could get his guards together."

Hogan froze in mid-pace, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah…" he mused. "Why not?"

"Get an anonymous tip?" Baker asked.

"No, not anonymous," Hogan said. "Tips with authority—authority that would cause Klink to help, but cause Hochstetter to stay out of it. We've got a contact in Berlin, remember? Morrison, better known to the Germans as Major Hans Teppel."

Kinch and Baker exchanged glances.

"It just might work," Kinch agreed.

"But just to be sure, I want to have an insurance policy," Hogan added. "First thing I want you to do is to call up Hochstetter as General Kinchmeyer and tell him he's got to come to Düsseldorf on an urgent but secret matter. Tell him that the truck was seen there; he'll be out of here first thing in the morning once the roads are clear."

"And then you want me to try to get into contact with Morrison after that?" Kinch asked.

"Right," said Hogan. "Tell him what happened, and he's sure to use his resources to try to help. But also request him to call Klink with the real tip—the truck was seen in Berlin. I'll talk Klink into letting me go with Schultz tomorrow morning. They may have a head start, but with Morrison waiting for them, there's a chance that even if they can't reach them, they can hopefully delay any plans those thugs might've had long enough for me to get there."

"Anything else?" Kinch asked.

"No, I think that really is all we can do tonight; we just have to hope that the boys can hold out until help arrives," said Hogan. "Finish up and take a well-earned rest."

"One question, Sir…" Baker said. "What happens if we can't get in touch with Morrison?"

"Start praying, Baker; that's all I can say. I don't even know what we're up against; whoever talked about fear of the unknown certainly wasn't kidding."

Baker gave a nod as the colonel headed up to relay the plan to Olsen, and the younger techie proceeded to listen to Kinch's vocal metamorphosis as he spoke to the drowsy Hochstetter.

The element of the unknown really did make everything seem so much worse.


	6. Of Medallions and Statue Heads

Night gave way to morning, and things began to happen almost simultaneously. Klink was on the phone with "Major Teppel" as Hochstetter announced that he was leaving under the orders of "General Kinchmeyer." Hogan heard it all over the coffeepot, and, once Hochstetter had left, he smoothly went into Klink's office and obtained permission to travel to Berlin with Schultz.

The kidnapped trio, on the other hand, found themselves roughly awakened as they arrived at their destination, having fallen asleep in spite of their best efforts not to do so. Davis, the gruff smuggler, had managed to sneak the truck into the city before Morrison had managed to complete the dragnet. Getting out was going to be difficult, but not impossible. They had time to spare in Berlin, anyway; they had a job to do.

Michael ordered the trio to follow Davis and the Egyptian man inside a small, run-down warehouse. Loose floorboards concealed an underground room, where more men waited with several of the same type of hollowed-out books like the one Newkirk had found.

"Mr. Alistair?" Michael asked.

A man in a three-piece suit as gray as the roots of his hair looked up from a makeshift desk made of old crates.

"I thought there was only one thief," he said, his eyes narrowing at the trio. His accent was also English, as Newkirk had predicted.

"There was, Sir; it was 'im," Michael said, pointing to Newkirk. "Those two came along, demanding parley with you."

"Did they?" Alistair sneered. His eyes bore into LeBeau first, and then Carter.

"We demand the immediate release of our comrade," LeBeau said, coldly.

"Yeah, we didn't appreciate you running off with him," Carter agreed.

"And why, pray tell, would an American and a Frenchman concern themselves with the fate of an Englishman?" Alistair asked. "Your request is denied. And I suggest, Gentlemen, that in the future, you stay out of affairs that do not concern you."

LeBeau cursed him in response as Carter ranted that it most certainly was their concern when a friend was hauled away right in front of them. Alistair didn't seem to care; the ringleader of the gang merely shifted his attention to Newkirk.

"Our business is with you. What is your name, Corporal?"

Newkirk responded with a defiant glare; he wasn't going to indulge this creep.

"Davis, the young man's name, if you please," Alistair ordered.

Davis responded by pulling the chain containing Newkirk's RAF identity discs. The corporal yelped at the sudden pull around his neck, bending forward as Davis held the discs out to Alistair; LeBeau and Carter angrily chastised them for treating Newkirk in such a manner, but they were, of course, ignored.

"Newkirk…" Alistair mused, reading the discs. "No relation to the dancer, Elizabeth Newkirk? I saw her perform once with a troupe in London, nearly twenty years ago. I heard she was quite mad—a recluse."

"And I 'eard there's a ruddy great monster in Loch Ness," Newkirk shot back. He knew he had just confirmed that he was related, but he was not going to stand for any insults to his dead mother.

"It matters not; I was just curious," Alistair said, pouring himself a glass of wine. "But we have business to discuss, Corporal Newkirk. I brought you here, Corporal, to offer a business proposition to you. You see, you are the first person to successfully steal anything from us. It warranted my personal congratulations—and an invitation to join our organization. You are clearly from the East End, and I have no doubts that you have known a rough life. I have seen it here with Michael; you could only be such an effective thief if you had been forced to learn the skills required of one. After the war, do you really wish to return to the same existence? I can offer you the same life of wealth that young Michael has accepted."

"You brought me 'ere for that?" Newkirk asked. "Your cronies could've asked me this on the 'ammelburg Road; I would've told them to get lost, and we wouldn't 'ave 'ad to go through all of this!"

"So you would rather remain a prisoner of the Germans and return to a life of poverty after the war than work for me?" Alistair asked, surprised.

"Keeps me out of trouble," the corporal responded, using the very same words Hogan had once used.

"Didn't exactly keep you out of trouble the night you stole these from us," Davis snarled, pulling the sack of artifacts from Newkirk's pocket.

"I'm not going to ask you, Corporal, what you were doing out in the German wilderness that night," Alistair said, accepting the sack. "You clearly come and go as you please and make life difficult for the Germans. You're a loyal English soldier, and most resourceful, based on your ability to steal from us."

"Don't patronize me," Newkirk spat. "You've got your blooming artifacts back, and I gave you me refusal; there is nothing further for us to discuss. Don't bother dropping us back at Stalag 13; we'll make the journey ourselves."

He placed a hand on LeBeau and Carter's shoulders and moved to lead them off, but found the path to the exit blocked by the Egyptian man.

"My dear boy, you seem to be under the assumption that I am giving you a choice in the matter," Alistair said, his voice remaining maddeningly calm. "Your role in this war is over; you have a new employer now."

"Not a chance!" Newkirk retorted, whirling around to face Alistair. "That kid may 'ave been thick enough to believe all of your rot, but I certainly ain't!"

"You ain't that different from me!" Michael retorted. "If it 'ad been you all alone in the streets when 'e made that offer, you would've said yes, too!"

Newkirk gritted his teeth. Michael's words stung, because they were merely echoing his own thoughts.

"Your silver tongue appears to be failing you, Corporal," said Alistair. "Don't feel too badly about it; swallowing your pride is a new experience, isn't it? Accept the inevitable, Corporal; we will not let you leave. You may as well come to enjoy your new career and colleagues. We can make things most unpleasant for you if you refuse."

Newkirk swore at him in response.

"Oh, I see," Alistair said, unfazed. "I am clearly going about this the wrong way, am I not? Trying to threaten _you_ would be futile; you Cockneys are a plucky bunch who do not scare easily. But you see, Corporal, every man has a weak point—even you. Exploit that weak point, and he will break."

Alistair pulled an odd medallion from his pocket, holding it by its cord; it, too, seemed to be Egyptian, based on the hieroglyphs carved into it. The smuggler deftly tossed it across the room towards LeBeau, who yelped, but caught the artifact in his palm.

The Frenchman stared at the object for a moment, but as Newkirk and Carter turned to take a look, several long, thin metal bands shot out from the medallion, wrapping themselves tightly around LeBeau's neck.

"Holy smoke!" Carter cried, his eyes widening as Newkirk could only stare, horrified.

The cry was caught in the older corporal's throat as the metal bands tightened themselves further and further around his neck.

"Louis!" Newkirk gasped, trying to pry the metal bands off of his neck. It did no good; this effort only seemed to cause them to tighten further. He turned to Alistair, furious. "Call it off! It's going to strangle 'im!"

"According to legend, the Medallion of Apophis was not intended to kill a man; it is one of seven cursed medallions used to invoke dark deities," the smuggler replied, calmly, as LeBeau sunk to his knees, gasping to get whatever air he could. "The true purpose of this one was to invoke the power of Apophis—the snake demon. His coils are represented by those metal bands. It is said that whoever remains in those "coils" long enough loses his mortal soul to the darkest of the shadows—primal darkness itself. As for whether or not the legend has any truth to it… Well, we shall soon find out."

"No! _Stop_!" Newkirk pleaded, now trying to feel all over the medallion itself for a trigger to stop or reverse the process as Carter kept trying to offer some words of comfort to the Frenchman.

"Dear boy, I think you know what you have to do in order to get me to stop the medallion," Alistair said. "I have found your weak point. Will you be the one to break, or will it be your friend?"

Newkirk stared at LeBeau, who looked up at him, mouthing for him to not give in as he struggled to keep his eyes focused. But the Frenchman had not been able to hide the fear in his unfocused eyes. Newkirk had been weakening ever since the bands had started closing around LeBeau's neck; seeing the unbridled fear in his friend's eyes was too much.

"Fine. _Fine_!" Newkirk yelled. "I'll do whatever you want; just leave these two alone!"

The Egyptian man gave a nod to himself; it was just as he predicted. Threaten his friends, and the weakling would cave.

"I'll choose to believe you, Corporal," Alistair said. "But if you change your mind, rest assured that I shall, as well."

He snapped his fingers, and the Egyptian man stepped forward, pressing five spots on the medallion in a quick, planned pattern. The metal bands retracted back within the medallion; LeBeau gasped for breath as the Egyptian took the medallion back to Alistair, taking care to carry it by its cord. Alistair also accepted it by the cord and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Tell me, Frenchman, how was your vision of the primal darkness? Did you see it?" the ringleader asked. "Are the legends possibly true?"

LeBeau was still trying to catch his breath; otherwise, he would have cursed Alistair a thousand times over.

"Louis?" Newkirk asked, quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

LeBeau shut his eyes now.

"…Pierre…" he said, in between his gasping breaths. "_Je… __Je suis désolé_ …"

"No," Newkirk responded, still quietly. "You 'ave nothing to apologize for."

"Welcome to the fold, Corporal Newkirk," Alistair said.

Newkirk clenched a fist. Still keeping his other hand on LeBeau's shoulder, he glared at the ringleader.

"Fine," he said. "You got me as your newest member; now let these two go."

"No, I think not," Alistair said. "See, they are an insurance policy, as it were; so long as we have them, I can be certain that you will do whatever I order. How do I know that you will not act insubordinately once you are convinced of their safety? I cannot risk it."

Newkirk shut his eyes now. He may have very well condemned himself, and, more importantly, his two best friends to a life as prisoners, and all because he had been overly curious about an odd book.

He would have to find a way to get the two of them out, at the very least.

"We're going to have to figure out how to get past the troublesome dragnet that Major Teppel has put up," Alistair said. "Your camp commander must have had a hand in this; he obsesses over his no-escape record, doesn't he?"

The trio exchanged glances, keeping their expressions neutral. They knew very well that it wasn't Klink, but Hogan, who had been responsible for getting Morrison to create the dragnet.

"Yes, I know what you're thinking," Alistair sneered. "You think you can get yourselves recaptured by Teppel's men and get sent back to your safe Luft Stalag?"

"Well, I've got to say that the old cooler seems a lot more inviting than this dump," Carter said.

"And I've had more than enough of your mouth!" Davis snarled.

"Enough," Alistair said. "We have work to do here in Berlin; we can wait as long as we have to before we find a way to slip past the dragnet and be on our way. We have a task that only our newest member can do."

"What…?" Newkirk asked, turning his head sharply.

"Yes, that's right," Alistair said. "Tell me… are you familiar with Nefertiti?"

"Is that anything like a martini?" the corporal asked, dryly.

"She was a queen of the 18th Dynasty in Egypt," Alistair said, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. "And there was an exquisite statue head made of her; it's a priceless piece of ancient art, and it's right here in Berlin, locked in a flak tower with other works of art."

"You don't mean…" Newkirk began.

"You are very perceptive, Corporal," Alistair said. "Yes. Given how flawlessly you are able to imitate a German—better than Davis here, who is the best out of all of us—you are the only one who could infiltrate that flak tower and get that statue head for us. We were planning to make an attempt to get it ourselves, but we couldn't find someone suitable to pull it off… until we found you."

"You want _me_ to get that ruddy statue 'ead?" Newkirk asked, dumbstruck. "Go into that flak tower, with all of those guards in there?"

"That's impossible!" Carter exclaimed. "Nobody's _that_ good of an impersonator!" _Well, I probably could if I tried to pass as a general again; if it'll help Peter, then maybe I should_…

Newkirk could read the expression in Carter's face and countered with an expression that clearly read, "Don't even think about it."

"Are you willing to at least try, Corporal?" Alistair asked.

"Do I even 'ave a choice?" Newkirk asked, derisively.

"Oh, there's always a choice," he replied, drawing out the Medallion of Apophis again.

LeBeau shuddered involuntarily, prompting Newkirk to flinch.

"Right, you win," the English corporal said, bitterly. "I'll try to get that statue 'ead from you. But I need me mates with me in there; I need backup."

"Ah, I am afraid not," Alistair said. "I can't have the three of you plotting escapes and going missing while you're in there. Michael will go with you."

"I need backup I can _trust_," Newkirk shot back.

"You don't trust a fellow Cockney? Shame on you, Corporal!" Alistair said, in a mock-scolding tone. "I do believe you've been away from England for far too long."

_If it's keeping me away from scum like you, then I don't mind as much_, he thought, furiously.

"But now I am curious," Alistair went on, turning his gaze to LeBeau and Carter. "Who exactly are these two men for whom you are willing to sell your soul to protect?"

Davis responded by pulling the chains with Carter's dog tags and LeBeau's identity discs; the Frenchman cried out again, his neck still hurting from the medallion.

"Carter…" Alistair mused. "How does a loud-mouthed boy such as you become a sergeant, of all things?"

But for once, Carter held his tongue, glaring back defiantly at Alistair.

"And you—LeBeau," the man went on. "Have you no better business than to go tailing after an Englishman?" He smirked. "I would like to hear what you have to say about what you saw while in Apophis's coils."

"I did not see a thing," LeBeau spat.

Yes, and that had been the problem. Towards the end, as his sight had been losing focus, everything had started to go black—and not because he had been ready to pass out; the darkness that had started to creep in had felt cold and tangible—and was definitely not an experience that the Frenchman wished to feel again. But he certainly wasn't going to give Alistair the satisfaction of letting him know what he had felt.

Alistair sneered at the both of them.

"Take them away," he ordered. "Isolate them in the underground holds; they are not to have any contact with Corporal Newkirk until the job is completed. And if possible, see if you can prevent these two from having any contact with each other."

"No!" Newkirk exclaimed, as Davis took Carter and the Egyptian took LeBeau, forcing them down an underground passageway that led beneath the city. "Just… Just 'ang on, Mates! I'll think of something!"

He exhaled, staring at the ground as LeBeau and Carter were taken around a turn in the passageway and out of his sight. The fragments of possible escape plans that had been beginning to form in his head were now dissolving into nothing; if there could be no communication between the three of them, there would be no way of confirming a plan that could guarantee that no one would be left behind.

"Why, Corporal, there is no need to stress yourself thinking," Alistair replied, speaking in a calm tone that made Newkirk wish for nothing more than a chance to punch him right in the face. "They will be fine as long as you do as you are told; I will even let you see them again once you successfully complete your new mission. Their fate is completely in your hands; you should be careful out there in that flak tower, for their sakes, as well as your own. You _do_ want to see them again, don't you?"

Far from lowering Newkirk's morale further, the smuggler's words only strengthened his resolve. He lifted his head, meeting the man's smug expression with a glare that would've made even Hogan himself halt in his tracks, had he ever used it on him.

"I'm telling you now," the corporal said, his voice dripping with an anger so tangible that a person could have bottled it. "I'm only going along with this mad scheme of yours because of me mates. If anything—and I mean _anything_—'appens to either one of them, I will see you at me feet, begging for the mercy that I am sure to deny you."

"You speak with brave, impassioned words, Corporal," Alistair replied, unfazed. "But you don't have the means to back them up."

_Try me_, Newkirk silently challenged. _Just try me_.

* * *

_Author's note: I put a little touch of the supernatural in this chapter, but not too much. Also, the Medallion of Apophis and the six other cursed medallions aren't real; the concept was one that LuckyLadybug and I co-created. The Nefertiti statue head, on the other hand, is very real, very famous, and it was indeed kept in a Berlin flak tower during the war._


	7. The Infiltrator

_Author's note: This chapter is more quiet and dialogue-driven than the others, and I apologize for that. The action will resume in the next chapter._

* * *

Hogan was even more quiet than usual as Schultz drove him to Berlin; the sergeant soon attempted to try to draw the colonel in conversation.

"_Ja_," he said, at last, to no one in particular. "I am worried about those three, too. Poor Carter, always having a smile for everyone… Poor Newkirk, even though I owe him 500 marks and three chocolate bars… And poor LeBeau." He shook his head. "Some days, it is his cooking alone that keeps me on my feet…"

If he was hoping for a response from Hogan, he would be disappointed. The colonel was still preoccupied with his mental calculations for the plan that he was trying to pull together.

"Those boys always seem to get into trouble…" Schultz went on.

Hogan now turned to face him, a puzzled look on his face.

"Boys?" he asked, incredulously.

"When you're my age, they are still boys," Schultz insisted. "Newkirk looks as though he is about the age of my eldest daughter."

Hogan gave a nod. He had no doubt that Schultz's concern was genuine. He continued to half-listen to him as they passed through Morrison's dragnet, only paying full attention as they arrived.

"We are almost as Major Teppel's headquarters," the big man said. "For some reason, he has requested to question you personally." Schultz cast him a sideways glance. "Colonel Hogan, you aren't in any trouble, are you?"

"He probably just wants to make sure that I didn't have a part in this fiasco," Hogan replied. "I'll be fine, Schultz."

"_Ja_," the sergeant said, wanting to believe it.

Hogan bit back a wan smile. If he only knew…

"You're all right, Schultz," he said.

He didn't say anything else until they had reached Morrison's office. The in-disguise major gave Hogan a silent greeting before proceeding to fully slip into character as Major Teppel.

"So," he said. "Once again, Colonel Hogan, the actions of your men have brought you to me for interrogation."

"It's been too long, Major," Hogan replied, with the icy air of an annoyed captive. "Though if you're hoping to find some way to incriminate me in this, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"It is true, _Herr Major_," said Schultz. "Colonel Hogan wasn't even there when it happened; we were on the Hammelburg Road—"

"I already know the story," Morrison replied, silencing Schultz with a wave of his hand. "I want to know if Colonel Hogan here somehow found a way to put those kidnappers up to it."

"Exactly what would be the benefit of my arranging the kidnapping of my men?" Hogan asked. "There wouldn't be a point to having them trade one set of captors for another."

"Is that so?" Morrison asked. "I've been going through our intelligence records; the descriptions of the two men who took these three soldiers match those of two men who belong to an international smuggling ring!"

"_Ach du lieber_!" Schultz exclaimed. "Smugglers! So it wasn't Major Hochstetter who was behind this… But why would they want prisoners of war?"

"Prisoners of war are likely recruits for such men," Morrison countered.

_Come on, Morrison; tell me something I _don't_ know_, Hogan silently pleaded.

Morrison got the message. He strode to his desk, casually pouring himself a drink to appear unhurried.

"We have taken a look at the records of the three missing men," Morrison went on. "The only abduction that makes sense is that of the Englishman—Newkirk. He has had a history of petty thefts; the ring probably intended to take him from the beginning. Also, the majority of this gang is comprised of Englishmen. It stands to reason that they would take note of one of their own; they took Carter and LeBeau either because they were witnesses, or because they were put up to it."

_So is this a case of attempted liberation or initiation?_ Hogan wondered._ And what's going to happen to LeBeau and Carter, in either case?_

"The gang is headed by a man named Reginald Alistair," Morrison went on. "He had funded several archaeological expeditions in Egypt; none of them were successful. After Egypt gained its independence from England, he decided to turn to black market antiquities and smuggling, recruiting several other Englishmen who had remained in Egypt. He and his gang had left Egypt just before the war started and were last seen in London. Rumor has it he has been trying to return to Egypt; the fact that his men seemed to be the kidnappers suggests that they were initially headed southward, but they have apparently taken this detour to Berlin."

"Rather daring of them," Hogan said. _Thanks; now things make more sense. Got any ideas to rescue my men?_

"Daring, but frustrating," Morrison said. "If we succeed in apprehending those smugglers, it will be a success that both sides of this war will celebrate. And I imagine you would be pleased to rescue your men. May I assume then, Colonel Hogan, that we are temporarily looking towards the same goal?"

"You may," Hogan replied, calmly.

"Then I will tell you what else we have found out," said Morrison. "We have been checking every car that has come in and out of Berlin. We believe that the smugglers did enter the city before our dragnet was fully in place. We know, however, that they have not left."

"They must not have been able to get through the dragnet," theorized Schultz.

"Or, more likely, they haven't even tried," said Morrison. "We believe that there is something here they are after. Why else would they make a northward detour?"

"Do you have any idea what they might be after here?" Hogan asked.

"We have ideas," Morrison said. "Seeing as though the lives of your men are at stake, I suggest that you follow my orders without any further questions."

"Fine," Hogan said, only half-faking the grudging acceptance. _Just don't enjoy ordering me around too much, Morrison; the war's got to end sometime_.

Morrison read the look in Hogan's eyes and bit back a smirk. _I wouldn't dream of it_.

"I, too, will do whatever the Major orders if it will help to rescue those men—I mean, recapture those prisoners!" said Schultz, once again forced to hide his true concern for the men in front of one he thought was a superior.

"_Gut_," Morrison said. "Come with me, Gentlemen; we have many places in the city to inspect."

* * *

The underground passageways beneath the city were numerous. Traversing through and spending time in underground labyrinths were not new experiences for LeBeau. Initially, when the construction of the tunnels had started in Stalag 13, LeBeau had suffered from numerous bouts of claustrophobia. Slowly, though, he had begun to become desensitized to it after spending more and more time underground until it had become second nature. But now, isolated from Newkirk and Carter and shoved into a small hold, he was unable to shake the familiar, terrifying feeling that the walls of the hold were closing in on him.

LeBeau had already begun to hyperventilate as the vertigo started to set in. He shut his eyes, but soon had to open them again; it had brought back the image of that darkness that had begun to creep into his vision when he had been subjected to the Medallion of Apophis. Had that… had that really been _Duat_—the Egyptian netherworld—that he had begun to see?

He angrily cursed Alistair between his gasps for breath. If he had only been stronger, he might have been able to resist the medallion's magic. Newkirk wouldn't have had to owe his soul to Alistair just to save him.

There had to have been some way to counter the medallion's effects. The corporal cursed himself now for not paying more attention to his grandfather's stories about ancient Egypt; he recalled that he had, at one point, mentioned something about _Duat_, and how souls had to traverse through this shadow realm before reaching their final reward. For every brand of _heka_ that had been developed, there usually was a counter-spell—that was how people managed to make their way through _Duat_ in the first place.

Hours passed. LeBeau wasn't even aware of the door of the hold opening, revealing the Egyptian man; the Frenchman nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard the man speak.

"Terrifying, is it not?" he asked, softly. "And all you saw was a glimpse of _Duat_. You did not traverse the river or the Lake of Fire. You did not experience the Weighing of the Heart, nor did you do battle with Apophis himself. Had you been subjected long enough to the medallion, you would have been forced to experience it all."

LeBeau stopped his hyperventilating long enough to glare at the man.

"You planned this all along," he spat. "You planned this from the moment you saw Pierre in the barracks! You had wanted to take him there, but couldn't in front of the Germans, so you waited for us to be on the Hammelburg Road!"

"You were never meant to be a part of this," the man said. "Had you not insisted on interfering, you would not be here now; you would be back in your barracks."

"_Non_, I would not have been back in my barracks; I would be out in the cold trying to hunt you down like the monsters you are!"

"And now your presence has driven your friend to agree to the demands of Mr. Alistair," he replied. "You have done more harm than good."

"What do you mean—more harm than good?" LeBeau snarled. "You are with Alistair, _non_? Why would you be upset at Pierre joining you?"

"Your mind is quite closed," the man observed. Silently, he looked around to make sure that no other members of the gang were nearby before removing his muffler and false features.

LeBeau's jaw dropped as he realized that the man was, in fact, Egyptian.

"Alistair needed an Egyptian to join him—to help him with the appraisal of the antiquities," the man went on, replacing his disguise.

"And you do not mind that they are stealing your national treasures?" LeBeau asked.

"They will be punished," the man insisted. "I am aware of which hands have received artifacts through Alistair's trades. Once I am ready to reveal myself as an infiltrator and see that punishment is meted out to these men, I will turn my attention to those who bought the artifacts."

"How do I know that you are trustworthy?" LeBeau asked.

"I don't expect you to be so quick to believe me," the man agreed. "But I will offer you this information. Your American friend is in the hold right next to you." He indicated the left wall. "Find a way to do so, and you can contact him."

"That does not mean I will trust you just because I can reach him!" LeBeau warned. "If you wish to earn my trust, you will find a way to help Pierre get to safety."

"That, I cannot do," the Egyptian said. "He, too, must suffer the consequences of his crime, just as the others in this gang will."

"But Pierre did not know that he was stealing artifacts!" LeBeau countered. "He only thought there was something odd about the book; if he had known—!"

"If his intentions were pure, then no harm will come to him," the Egyptian said. "However, a thief such as him would likely have made plans to keep the artifacts he found; he cannot hide those intentions from Ma'at."

LeBeau didn't want to admit that he and Carter had to talk Newkirk out of keeping them; that would surely count against him.

"What will you do to him?" the Frenchman inquired. "I warn you, if you insist on hurting Pierre, then you are my enemy!"

"It is not what I will do, but what the weight of your friend's own actions will do to him," the Egyptian said. "The justice of Ma'at will fall upon these thieves—including your friend. If his soul is pure, then he has nothing to fear. Unfortunately, I have yet to see a thief who has a pure soul."

LeBeau's eyes burned into the Egyptian's.

"While there is nothing I can do for your friend, I can, perhaps, find some way to guarantee the safety of you and the American, should I find the opportunity," the Egyptian said.

"I will not leave without Pierre, and I am certain my American companion will agree with me," LeBeau retorted.

The Egyptian merely shrugged.

"Then there is nothing I can do for you," he said. "Let me know if you wish to reconsider. I bid you good day, Corporal LeBeau."

LeBeau responded with a dark look as the Egyptian left the room, closing the door again. The Frenchman waited until he was sure that the man was out of earshot before turning his attention to the left wall.

"André?" he called, quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. "André!"

There was no response; the wall wasn't thick enough for him to be heard calling this softly, and LeBeau wasn't going to risk raising his voice.

The corporal examined the wall. It was a typical dirt wall, the result of a carefully-dug tunnel—much like the ones under Stalag 13. He imagined that the walls between each individual hold weren't impossible to breach, but what worried him was whether or not that wall was helping to support the tunnel roof. If it was, then breaching the wall could result in disaster.

_I will try making a small hole in the wall to try to contact André, at the very least. Perhaps later, we can determine what we will do with the wall itself_.

He looked around the hold, finding a small length of pipe; the pipe was sharp enough at one end to be used as a digging tool. Grabbing the pipe, he began to hack at the wall, starting to work his way into it. Hopefully, the wall wouldn't be too thick; he needed to communicate with Carter as soon as possible—before anything happened to Newkirk.

* * *

Newkirk paced the corridors of the underground passageways; guards were keeping him away from the holds.

"Can I get you anything, Corporal Newkirk?" asked Alistair. "Some food? A drink, perhaps?"

Newkirk gave him a cold glare.

"I don't get it," the East Ender said. "I really don't. Why me? Why do you need me when I'm certain that there are better cat burglars than me? If it's just the Nefertiti statue, why not let us go after we're finished with this? We'll go back to Stalag 13, and we won't say a word—you'll likely be long gone by the time we get back!"

"Corporal, you don't seem to realize that I am trying to help you," Alistair said. "I told you, your story is one that I've seen before. Tell me truthfully… What exactly is waiting for you in London after the war—assuming that you survive your hi-jinks in the stalag?"

"Family," the corporal responded, without missing a beat. He wasn't going to go into specifics for this man; he had no reason to know about Mavis.

"I see," Alistair said. "And I suppose you have a plan for helping your family get through the reconstruction of London?"

Newkirk froze.

"I assumed as much," Alistair smirked. "Your membership in this ring doesn't come without monetary compensation, Corporal. And we do make several trips from Egypt to England. You would have plenty of opportunity to give your family the money they need."

Newkirk looked at Alistair for a brief moment before turning away. No; not for all the money in the world would he turn to a life like this—not when he had been trying too hard to make an honest living for himself.

"I don't need money," he said. "Not _this_ kind of money. I'll tell you what I do need: I need me mates to be free."

"Alas, it's a request that I cannot grant for reasons that I mentioned earlier," Alistair countered. "Ah, and here is Michael with the uniforms!"

Newkirk turned to glare at the younger East Ender as he arrived with the uniform of an infantry major and a lieutenant.

"I trust you know what to do with this?" Alistair said, as Michael silently handed the major's uniform to Newkirk.

"Look, you've got me working for you against me will; I'm not about to satisfy you with answers to each and every one of your little questions!" he shot back.

"Getting insubordinate already, are we? Such a shame…" Alistair mused. "I'm afraid you're forcing me to resort to unpleasant means, Corporal. I'm afraid that I'll now have to give you a time limit within which you must retrieve Nefertiti."

"And let me guess… If I run out of time, me mates will suffer for it?" Newkirk asked.

"Most intelligent, Corporal," Alistair said. "You know the stakes. Do you consider… three hours to be sufficient time?"

"No, I do not," Newkirk retorted in a similar tone. "I need about five, just to ensure that I 'ave enough time to get the job done."

"Enough time to dream up foolish plans to try to get yourself and your companions out of here, you mean," Alistair said. "No, Corporal, I am above the little ploys you use against the Germans. I will not fall for them as easily. You have three hours." He checked his watch. "It is now twenty minutes until 6:00. I will grant you the twenty extra minutes. The deadline is 9:00."

"You're all 'eart," Newkirk responded, sardonically.

"One thing that you would do well to learn, Corporal, is to never match wits with one you cannot hope to defeat," Alistair said, with a smirk. "You are lucky that I am being benevolent enough to keep your friends alive when they are of no use to me. All they represent to me now are two extra mouths to feed—one of which can't shut up, and the other which refuses to speak to me in English. If it were not for the fact that they seem to be the best way to convince you to get things done, they would be long gone. I suggest, Corporal, that you find new friends—for _all_ of our sakes."

Newkirk knew that Alistair was merely trying to bait him, but it was still difficult to keep himself from reacting to the man's words.

"I suggest that you start on your mission and make use of the extra time," the man went on.

"Right, but remember what I said," Newkirk warned. "No 'arm should come to them."

"And remember what I said," Alistair countered. "You are in no position to make demands. Michael, see to it that Corporal Newkirk toes the line."

"Right-o, Guv," the young man responded.

Newkirk shut his eyes as he followed Michael out of the chamber. The corporal was not one who usually hoped for miracles, but today was going to be an exception.


	8. The Prize

As time went on, LeBeau succeeded in making a small hole through the wall using the pipe he had picked up earlier. At last, he had managed to break through; to his relief, the wall was not as thick as he had first imagined it to be.

"André!" he exclaimed, quietly.

"Louis?" Carter asked, quickly crawling over to the hole in the wall. "Hey, you've got a digging tool!"

"I know, but I am not sure of what the benefit is; I am afraid that if I try to bring down the wall, I might end up bringing the ceiling down, as well!"

"Gosh, that Egyptian seemed to suggest that bringing down the wall was the best idea," Carter said.

LeBeau froze. Had the man spoken to Carter, as well?

"What did he tell you?" he asked.

"He said that bringing down the wall would cause a gap to form between the doors; we could get out that way," said the sergeant. "But I wasn't sure how to bring it down until you dug through; I guess we'll just have to keep at it. I know it's risky, but that guy's an Egyptian trying to get those artifacts back; he really seems to want to help us!"

LeBeau frowned.

"Did he tell you anything else?" the Frenchman asked.

"Nope. Why?"

"Just curious," LeBeau answered. There was no need to worry Carter about the "punishment" that allegedly lay in store for Newkirk, not that LeBeau even understood it himself.

"Oh. Well, okay…" Carter said, with a shrug. "Hey, you got another digging tool that you can send through here? That might help get us out faster."

"_Oui_, there is another pipe," said the Frenchman, sending it through the hole. "Just be careful; don't dig too quickly. We don't want the roof falling in."

"Yeah, that would kind of defeat the purpose, huh?" Carter asked, with a wan smile, as he began to dig. "Once we get out of here, we need to hightail it over to that flak tower and help Peter. If it really is just that kid with him, we can overpower him without any trouble at all!"

"It is not that simple," LeBeau said. "How will we get inside the tower?"

"Well, it's not that big of a problem; those flak towers are open to civilians trying to get out of the air raids."

"André, somehow I doubt that pounding on the flak tower doors yelling, 'Sanctuary! Sanctuary!' is going to convince them to grant access to a Frenchman and an American."

"Then we steal ourselves some civilian clothes," Carter replied, without missing a beat.

He and LeBeau both scrambled backwards as a good portion of the dirt began to give way as a result of their hacking into the wall.

"Careful," the Frenchman instructed. "It won't be too long before we bring it down. Take it slowly from here, and pull back if you feel as though it is about to give way."

"Right…"

They continued to work for a while longer, sweat pouring down each of their brows.

"Hey, Louis?"

"_Oui_?"

"You think he'll really steal the statue head?"

"For us, he will do anything," LeBeau said, quietly. "That is why we must help him."

"Yeah, I know that," Carter said. "But do you think he'd steal it if it was just the three of us here, no pressure? Would he take it on his own?"

"I do not know," the Frenchman answered. Newkirk claimed that he wasn't proud of stealing, but it had taken a bit of persuasion for him to relinquish the gold. That instinct would be what would get him into trouble at the hands of this mysterious Egyptian.

LeBeau suppressed a shudder. They had to get to Newkirk before the Egyptian did.

More dirt gave way as the wall weakened even more.

"One more good blow oughta do it," Carter said.

"Right," LeBeau agreed. "On the count of three, strike and retreat."

"Gotcha."

"_Un… deux… troi_!"

They both drove the pipes at the walls and then drew back. With a loud rumble, the wall gave way, including the portion of wall separating the exits of the two holds.

"It worked!" Carter exclaimed. "Come on; let's get out of here!"

"_Oui_, but be careful; they will have heard the noise," LeBeau warned.

The corporal and the sergeant slipped through the hole and began to traverse through the network of passages.

* * *

The guards outside the flak tower granted Newkirk and Michael entry inside without a second glance.

"Blimey, 'ow many times 'ave you done this sort of thing?" the younger man asked, impressed at how Newkirk hadn't even flickered an eyelid upon getting them inside.

"First of all, it's none of your ruddy business. Secondly, either talk in German, or don't talk at all."

Michael glowered at him.

"This is because Mr. Alistair dragged you out 'ere to join us, isn't it?"

"No, it ain't because of that," Newkirk said darkly. "I could easily knock you senseless and get out of 'ere. It's because 'e's got me best China as 'ostages!"

"Your best China…" Michael scoffed. "A loud-mouthed American and a tiny Frenchman? _I'm_ taller than that French bloke!"

"Maybe, but 'e is the one with the larger 'eart," Newkirk retorted, heading up the stairway. He looked around nervously; if anyone realized that they were speaking in English, they had it. "Now, shut up!"

Michael let out a derisive snort. He found it impossible to believe that Newkirk was willing to do so much for those two instead of his own countrymen. Alistair was right—he must have been away from England too long.

They headed up staircases and wandered through corridors as guards stopped to salute Newkirk. He returned them, half-heartedly, his mind on getting this mess over with. Alistair had known exactly where the art treasures were stored; he had, apparently, had his eye on the statue head for a long time.

Using the air of authority that Carter always managed to put on when the moment required it, Newkirk dismissed the guard standing in front of the storage area.

"Right…" the corporal murmured, once they were inside. "Where is the ruddy thing?"

"It's in one of these crates," Michael answered, pulling out the crowbars he had concealed. "These ones 'ere seem to be from the various Egyptian wings…"

Newkirk sighed, opening the crates as quietly as he could.

"I don't even know what this thing looks like!" he complained. "These Egyptian statues all look the same to me…"

He trailed off as he found himself looking at a limestone statue head just over one-and-a-half feet tall, a good portion of the height given by a blue crown. Two limestone eyes, one of them incomplete, stared at Newkirk from within the crate. He didn't have to know what it was supposed to look like, he realized. This was it, without a doubt.

"Cor blimey…" he breathed, temporarily under the spell of the artifact's sheer beauty.

Michael took a look and echoed the corporal's words. He reached for it, but Newkirk slapped his arm aside.

"I'll 'andle that, if you don't mind," he said, coldly. "If I'm being forced to get the ruddy thing, I'll carry it meself."

"Mr. Alistair will be pleased," Michael commented.

"Oh, leave off! I told you I ain't doing this for 'im," Newkirk retorted, putting on gloves so as not to get any fingerprints on the artifact. Carefully, he lifted it out of the crate and spoke to it. "Sorry about this, Luv; you're probably rolling over in your sarcophagus, but I've got to save me mates. Believe me, I didn't want to do this…"

"I do believe you've gone crackers."

"And I do believe you're a ruddy pain."

"You're talking to a statue 'ead!"

"I talk to safes, too; best part about it is that they never insult you."

"Never mind," Michael said, rolling his eyes. "We need to get that out of 'ere without letting them know."

"That's going to be a challenge," Newkirk admitted, wrapping the artifact in his coat. "It's too much to 'ope that no one would ponder over a major walking out into the cold with a coat in 'is 'ands, but that's the best option we've got."

As the two exited the storage area, Newkirk carefully carrying Nefertiti, they were unaware that the flak tower was now being swarmed by Morrison's men. After searching the other sites had proved fruitless, Morrison had led Hogan and Schultz here.

Deciding to cover more ground, Morrison had ordered his men to spread out, and had ordered Schultz to go as well, assuring him that he would keep an eye on Hogan. The big man had shrugged, but went along with the idea, knowing that it was a better chance to find the lost trio.

Schultz sighed to himself as he glanced upon yet another stairwell he had to climb. Shaking his head, he clung to the handrail and started to work his way up.

He was halfway up the stairwell when he saw an infantry major and lieutenant came down the stairs. The major appeared to be carrying his coat. As Schultz saluted, he noticed that the major hastily pulled his cap down to cover as much of his face as he could before returning the salute, but the sergeant caught a glimpse of the major's eyes—the gaze shifting nervously from left to right and back again, just like Newkirk always did when he was nervous or upset…

Schultz stopped dead in his tracks.

"NEWKIRK!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the stairwell. He swung around and followed the two down the stairs. "Newkirk, I found you! …Wait… Why are you in a major's uniform? Where are LeBeau and Carter? Who is he?" He glanced at Michael, and then noticed part of Nefertiti's face visible in a gap in Newkirk's coat. "Who is _she_?"

"And who is 'e?" Michael asked, not sure what to make of this; Newkirk being on close terms with a Frenchman and an American had been bizarre enough for him, and now he was close to a German, too?

"_I_ will ask the questions!" Schultz scolded Michael, and he proceeded to talk to Newkirk like a disappointed father addressing his son. "Is he one of smugglers? Newkirk, what are you doing? Why are you taking things for them?"

"Because the other smugglers 'ave got Louis and Andrew 'ostage, and unless I'm back with '_er_ in exactly thirty minutes, they're done for!"

He unwrapped the statue head to show the sergeant.

"_Ach du lieber_…" Schultz gasped. "You must give this to me; I will have to return it to Major Teppel."

"You mean 'e's 'ere?" Newkirk asked.

"_Ja_, he is with Colonel Hogan; he was worried about you, too," the big man said. "Come; I will take that…"

"Mind that you don't drop 'er, Schultzie," Newkirk said, wrapping the artifact up again and preparing to hand it over. "She's 3,000 years old, and it'd be a shame to break 'er now… OI!"

Michael, now realizing that Newkirk would plot a rescue attempt with this German guard, had been slowly trying to slip away to get back to Alistair and report this; Newkirk had just noticed him in his peripheral vision.

Michael swore at him and fled, and Schultz ordered him to stop. Michael kept on running, and Schultz took off.

"Schultzie, where's the colonel?" Newkirk asked, Nefertiti still in his hands. He had to get to Hogan; Hogan would know exactly what to do.

"Two floors below!" the sergeant called back, following Michael down the corridor.

Newkirk gave a nod, carrying Nefertiti down with him. Other guards, along with Morrison's men, were running past him, running to aid Schultz. Newkirk obligingly commanded them in German to arrest the fake lieutenant that the sergeant was chasing.

When he reached the right floor, he tore through the corridor when, at last, he saw the familiar brown jacket.

"Sir!" he exclaimed.

Hogan and Morrison both turned. Surprise and relief filled the colonel's eyes.

"Newkirk, are you alright?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, Sir," he said, with a relieved smile. "I've got quite a story, you know, and it involves—"

"Smugglers," Hogan finished for him, removing the coat wrapping slightly to reveal Nefertiti.

"That's right, Sir," the corporal replied. "I guess you've figured out most of the story on your own."

"You know where they are hiding, then?" Morrison asked.

"Yes," Newkirk said. "They've got Louis and Andrew with them as bargaining chips to make sure I bring this to them. They only sent me and another young bloke; Schultz and some of the other guards are grabbing 'im now."

"Good," sighed Morrison. "I'll order my men to take the hideout by surprise; if they move swiftly enough, they will be able to rescue LeBeau and Carter before anything happens to them in the confusion."

"Are they alright?" Hogan asked Newkirk.

"I 'ope so, Sir," Newkirk said, not even bothering to hide the worry in his voice and face. "They… they did something to Louis for a little bit; 'e sort of…" He shook his head, not sure how to describe it. "The leader, Alistair, said 'e made Louis see some sort of vision of the Egyptian netherworld; kept going on about some 'primal darkness' or something. I don't know if it's true; Louis didn't want to say anything in front of 'im, and we were separated after that, so I couldn't find out if 'e really did see—"

He was cut off as a gasping Schultz stumbled over to them.

"_Herr_… _Herr Major_…" he gasped, weakly saluting Morrison. "I beg to report… the young smugger impersonating the lieutenant has eluded us."

"Is he still in the building?" Morrison asked.

"I do not know, _Herr Major_," the sergeant replied, honestly.

"Tell the men that my orders are to seal off the exits; they must not let that smuggler pass!" Morrison ordered.

"Oh, Cor…" Newkirk said, realizing something. "If I know Michael, 'e'll 'ave already found a way out."

"How do you know?" Hogan asked.

"Because 'e's got… shades of me when I was that age," Newkirk replied.

He tore off down the corridor.

"Newkirk!" Hogan called.

"I can't explain now, Sir; there's no time!" Newkirk said, apologetically. "If 'e gets back there and tells Alistair what 'appened, Louis and Andrew are dead men! Just 'ave the major's men follow me; I'll lead them straight there!"

Schultz sighed, but followed behind Hogan and Morrison; the sergeant would do his best to help LeBeau and Carter, no matter how exhausted he was.

Newkirk was pulling ahead, too worried to keep looking back to make sure that the others were following him. He had to make sure that he got back to the hideout before Michael did.

He was vaguely aware of Morrison's voice calling out behind him, ordering his men to let the stampeding corporal to pass. Not that it would have mattered to Newkirk; he had been ready to plow right through them.

_Louis… Andrew… The Guv'nor and I are coming. Just hold on a little bit longer._

He dashed past the guards at the entrance, Nefertiti in hand, out into the winter night.


	9. Always Darkest Before Dawn

Newkirk didn't even notice the cold as he ducked through alleyways and cut across streets to take as many shortcuts as he possibly could to get back to the hideout. As he neared the warehouse, without even lifting up the loose floorboard to allow himself entry into the tunnels, he could hear a loud commotion going on from within.

His heart leaped into his throat. Had Michael beaten him here? What had happened with LeBeau and Carter?

As he descended into the tunnels, several smugglers shoved past him, barely giving him a second glance. They were looking for something… or someone. They were talking amongst themselves, and Newkirk distinctly heard the mentions of "the escaped Frenchman and American."

Newkirk now headed into the network of passageways, joining the search for his two friends as he still carried the wrapped-up Nefertiti with him. Calling to them would be no good, he knew; the last thing he wanted was to betray their hiding spot. He wasn't quite sure how they had managed to escape, but he wasn't surprised; if there was a way to escape, LeBeau and Carter would have found it. And, clearly, they had.

Newkirk had turned down one of the corridors when he suddenly heard a most welcoming sound.

"Pierre! _Nous sommes ici_!"

A broad grin found its way to the English corporal's face as he caught a glimpse of a familiar red scarf before it disappeared behind a bend.

"Blimey, you two 'ave caused a right stir, you 'ave," he congratulated the duo, as he came around the bend and saw them hiding behind some crates. "What did you do?"

"We brought down the wall between the two holds they had us in," Carter said, with a grin. "We actually felt kind of bad that you missed it; it was a perfect cascade of dirt—"

"Right; you can tell me and the Guv'nor all about it later," Newkirk said, cutting him off. "We need to get out of here."

"_Colonel_ Hogan is here?" LeBeau asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Met Schultzie and the colonel back at the flak tower when I was getting this," Newkirk explained, showing them Nefertiti. "Schultzie startled Michael, and he took off; I was worried 'e made it back 'ere first and told Alistair about it."

"He probably is here, but just looking for us," Carter mused. "We got lucky."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Newkirk sighed. "Reinforcements were not too far behind me, last time I checked—the colonel and Schultzie are among them. In a just few more minutes, it'll be all over!"

A few more minutes?" a calm voice repeated, causing the trio to freeze. "Excellent. Then it gives me one more chance to try to turn the tide back into my favor. On your feet, Gentlemen, and do be quick about it. Hands up, if you please, and I will be taking Nefertiti from you, Corporal Newkirk, if you would kindly place her on that crate…"

Alistair held the weapon trained on the trio as they got to their feet. Newkirk glared daggers at Alistair, but placed the statue head on the crate.

"Magnificent…" Alistair said, the gleam visible in his eyes. "She will fetch a large sum of money."

"Are you mad?" Newkirk asked. "Right now, Major Teppel's men are on their way 'ere; it's over for you!"

"No, I think not," said Alistair. "You seemed to suggest that your commanding officer is also coming with them, is that not so? If that is the case, then you three will make good hostages to ensure my escape."

"What about all the other guys?" Carter asked.

"What about them?" Alistair asked, calmly. "In the long run, they mean nothing to me. I have my money. I have the gold artifacts. And now, I have Nefertiti. I have everything I need to ensure a prosperous life. Every single one of them is now expendable. And that includes you three."

"I truly did not believe I could loathe this person even more than I already did," LeBeau said, darkly. "I have been proven wrong."

Newkirk was silent, thinking about Michael—how Michael had put all of his faith into Alistair for the hopes of getting a better life, and how that could have been him in Michael's place. Then he would be the one ready to be a sacrificial lamb.

"I think you three should be somewhat relieved that I still have a use for you," said Alistair. "However, Corporal Newkirk… You are the cause of all of this trouble. I seem to remember telling you something earlier—something about how if you caused trouble, your companions would be the ones to suffer?"

The smuggler pulled out the Medallion of Apophis again, and out of the corner of his eye, Newkirk saw LeBeau go pale. The younger corporal's gaze shifted rapidly between LeBeau and Alistair, who was now approaching the Frenchman, slowly.

It took Newkirk a moment to realize that the Frenchman was standing to his right, and Alistair, facing them, had the gun in his right hand and the medallion in his left. The gun would be only inches from Newkirk's right hand…

"_Duat_ awaits for you," Alistair said, getting ready to press the medallion to LeBeau's neck, in order to activate it.

Newkirk sprung into action, making a grab for the gun as Alistair thrust his medallion-holding left arm forward. The metal bands projected from the medallion as it pressed against Newkirk's arm, wrapping around his arm. Alistair drew the gun back as Newkirk yelped, but an enraged LeBeau now struck out at the smuggler, sending the gun flying from his hand.

Carter then yelled for a tactical retreat, helping Newkirk over the crates as LeBeau followed. Carter's boot touched Nefertiti as he leaped past, and she wobbled dangerously back and forth for a moment; Alistair dove to steady her. He succeeded in doing so, but the moment was all that it had taken for the trio to vanish once more into the network of passageways.

"Well…" the smuggler said, seemingly unfazed by this turn of events. "So be it, Corporal Newkirk; _Duat_ can have you instead." It didn't matter that the bands were around the corporal's arm instead of his neck; if the legend was true, he would begin to see the visions soon, anyway. Once he descended into the darkness, his commanding officer would concern himself with the corporal, and Alistair would be long gone.

* * *

The trio, in the meantime, found another side corridor to hide within.

"I don't think he's following us anymore," Carter said. "You okay, Peter?"

"I will be," Newkirk muttered, trying to pry the medallion off of his arm. "If this ruddy thing doesn't cut off the circulation to me arm…" He trailed off, wincing as the pain increased.

"Pierre!" LeBeau gasped, as the bands only seemed to tighten further. He swallowed hard. "Pierre, I am so sorry; that should have been—"

"If you say that it should've been you, I'll use this very arm to knock some sense into you," Newkirk retorted, a bit harsher than he had intended. He had no regrets for saving the Frenchman at the expense of his own arm. "This thing is stuck fast."

"That Egyptian touched it in five places, like a code," Carter recalled. "Maybe if we find him again, he can set you free."

"Why would 'e do that?"

"He's an infiltrator," Carter explained. "He's trying to get the stolen artifacts back to Egypt."

"I do not trust him," LeBeau said, flatly, trying various combinations on the medallion himself. He was convinced that the man had ill intentions as far as Newkirk was concerned.

"Oh, forget it, Louis," Newkirk said, after LeBeau's attempts had failed. "Let's just find the Guv'nor; maybe Schultz can get us access to something to cut these metal bands."

"We have to sneak back to the front entrance, but Alistair will probably be waiting for us," Carter said, taking a peek around the bend to make sure that he was nowhere nearby.

Newkirk moved to follow him, blinking as the lanterns strung throughout the tunnel seemed to suddenly dim. It grew colder, too; Newkirk suddenly wished that he had not abandoned the major's coat when he had surrendered Nefertiti to Alistair.

He yelped as the lanterns seemed to suddenly extinguish and plunge the tunnel into darkness. He felt for LeBeau's shoulder and gripped it.

"Shh," Carter said. "He might be around here still."

"So what if 'e is? It ain't as though 'e would be able to find us in the dark…"

Carter and LeBeau looked back at him in confusion at first. Within seconds, LeBeau's confusion was replaced with horrified realization.

"What are you talking about?" Carter asked. "There are lanterns all over the—"

"Pierre! Pierre, look at me!" LeBeau said, moving beneath one of the lanterns. "I am right here, under the light. Look!"

"What light? I can't see a ruddy thing…!" He trailed off, his unseeing eyes widening as the realization dawned on him, as well. He gripped at the metal bands, now frantically trying to pry them off of his arm.

"Wait, you mean what Alistair said about that thing giving you visions is true?" Carter whispered, stunned enough to be knocked over with a feather.

"Pierre, just stay calm—"

"Stay calm!" Newkirk hissed back. "I can't see me own 'and in front of me face, and you're telling me to stay calm!"

"We will be right here," LeBeau promised. "We will take you to _Colonel_ Hogan; he will find a way to get those off of you. That should end the visions."

"Well, could you 'urry up?" Newkirk asked.

"Yeah," said Carter, taking one more look. "Let's go; I don't think he's coming."

Carter led the way, with LeBeau following as he held onto Newkirk's other arm. The English corporal put his trust in the Frenchman's hands, but then froze as he heard the splash of water beneath his boots.

"Pierre?"

"Are the tunnels flooding?" Newkirk asked.

"No…" Carter said, now getting a bit more concerned. "Louis, what do we do?"

"We keep leading him to the exit," the Frenchman responded. "It is the only way we can hope to get that medallion off of him! Pierre, keep walking—whatever you see are just visions."

Newkirk stooped for a moment, and shuddered as he felt the cold water on his fingertips. Somehow, he wasn't so sure. If it weren't for the fact that he could still hear LeBeau and Carter, he would have been convinced that he had been truly transported to this place.

The Englishman tried not to react to the alleged illusion of water as they continued forward. But the sensation of the water—flowing water, he realized—slowly began to increase in level. The water was first at his ankles and increased with every step he took until chest-deep in the rushing water. Even his clothes felt as though they were weighing him down, as though they were soaked. And he could still feel the cold water chilling him through the layers of clothing. And now, irrational fear began to creep in; he wasn't sure how powerful this _heka_ was, and was wondering if every sensation of this illusionary water would be included in his vision—including the ability to drown.

Not wanting to take a risk, he lunged forward, trying to swim.

"Hey!" Carter exclaimed, as Newkirk's extended hand slapped him in the back of the head.

LeBeau caught the Englishman before he fell over. It was lucky that he was stockier than the taller, thinner Newkirk; the Englishman would have taken the Frenchman down with him, otherwise.

"The water's up to me chest!" he protested. "If it gets any 'igher—"

"Pierre, listen to me," said LeBeau. "You can hear us, _oui_? We are your link to reality. Do not focus on anything else you may sense."

Newkirk sighed. It was true; he could still hear LeBeau and feel the Frenchman grip his arm.

"I'm going mad…" he realized. "That's what Alistair wants; 'e knows I'll go mad with this thing on me arm!"

"Just stick with us!" Carter said. "If you can keep on hearing us, then… well, I'm not sure how that thing works, but it has to be a good sign if you can hear us, right?"

Newkirk sighed, getting a grip on himself. They were both right; he couldn't lose his hold on reality.

He continued to let LeBeau and Carter guide him. To his relief, the water level stopped rising at about the height of his shoulders. As they traversed through the passageways, he could also hear the sounds of others; Carter and LeBeau explained that Morrison's men were chasing down some of the smugglers.

"We're almost there; you're doing great!" Carter assured him.

"I see a light!" Newkirk exclaimed, as it came closer to him as he walked. "Wait…"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Pierre, come on!" LeBeau said. "We have a few more passageways to get past!"

"It's fire!" Newkirk hissed. "The water's on fire over there!"

Carter looked back at LeBeau, helplessly; LeBeau, on the other hand, was staring at Newkirk as he recalled the Egyptian's words to him.

_You did not traverse the river or the Lake of Fire. You did not experience the Weighing of the Heart, nor did you do battle with Apophis himself. Had you been subjected long enough to the medallion, you would have been forced to experience it all_.

"Maybe we should find Colonel Hogan and bring him here," Carter suggested, scratching his head. "It only seems to get worse for him as we go on."

LeBeau wasn't sure if that would work, either, though he kept it to himself. If what the Egyptian said was true, Newkirk would face the entirety of _Duat_ unless they removed the medallion from him, no matter if he stayed put. And as the Englishman seemed to be backing away as the Lake of Fire came closer to him, it only reinforced what LeBeau had suspected.

Desperate to help his friend, LeBeau tried once more to see if he could try slipping the metal bands off of Newkirk's arm. Carter also tried, but the bands refused to budge.

"We need to scarper," Newkirk said, convinced that the fire would damage them all.

"I'll scout ahead again…" the American began, but he trailed off as he realized that someone was coming from up ahead. "Quick! In here!"

Newkirk shut his eyes as the flames swept by them. He could feel the searing heat from them, but Carter and LeBeau's fortuitous bank to the left had pushed Newkirk to the banks of the Lake of Fire. He would be able to get past the flames unscathed.

He didn't say a word as the flames retreated behind them, the darkness once again taking over his vision. Everyone was silent, which would have unnerved him if not for the feel of LeBeau's grip still on his arm. He was furious with himself for believing these illusions, but they were so realistic…

Newkirk tried to shake the thoughts from his head. He couldn't even understand how this was happening to him now, nor how it had happened, albeit briefly, to LeBeau. Everything he had ever learned had told him that magic did not exist. Carter had always been the one to believe in all sorts of superstitions, and LeBeau, with his grandfather's penchant for Ancient Egypt, had probably heard of some these legends before.

_This ain't real_, he kept telling himself, as the cold replaced the warmth of the flames. _This can't be real. Everything has some sort of explanation to it. These metal bands must have miniature needles or something; I'm being drugged. Yes, that's it! I'm not going mad; I'm hallucinating! …Cor; that ain't much better, is it?_

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden gruff voice he recognized as Davis's.

"Here you are," Davis grunted, now finding their hiding spot.

"Yeah, that's us…" Carter said. "But, uh… If you're looking for Mr. Alistair, he's back there somewhere."

"_Oui_, he is running out on you; you are at the mercy of Major Teppel's men," LeBeau sneered.

There was a flurry of hushed voices; Newkirk realized that Davis had three other smugglers in tow.

"You're lying to save your own skins," Davis sneered.

"Why would we lie?" Newkirk retorted. "You know Teppel's men are 'ere, and so is our commanding officer. Face it—Alistair 'as scarpered!"

"Yes, I saw your commanding officer," Davis retorted. "He knocked out three of the others with his bare hands."

"That's our colonel, alright…" Carter mused. His smile faded as Davis aimed Langenscheidt's rifle at him.

"I have waited a long time to shut your mouth—permanently," the gruff smuggler said. "I will not give your colonel the pleasure of finding you or the Frenchman alive. I will finish the two of you while the rest of our lads hold him up."

"I guess it is useless to point out that Alistair actually wanted us alive to shield his escape?" LeBeau offered.

"Extremely useless," Davis countered, turning to face LeBeau.

Newkirk kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see what the visions had in store for him next. Instead, he focused on using his ears to pinpoint Davis's exact location. He knew that LeBeau was standing directly by his side, and that Davis had just turned to speak to him. As LeBeau was shorter, the rifle would be pointed lower than when he had been turned to Carter.

Praying that Davis was right-handed and would be holding the rifle in a manner favoring the right arm, Newkirk suddenly lunged, grabbing for the rifle, trying to point it upwards and away from his friends.

"Louis! Andrew! Go; clear out!"

"Not a chance, Buddy!" Carter retorted, knocking back a pair of the other smugglers who came to try to pull Newkirk away.

"_Tous pour un, un pour tous_!" LeBeau agreed, administering a _coup de pied bas de frappe_ to the third, knocking his opponent off-balance. A _crochet_ punch from the corporal knocked the unsuspecting smuggler out cold.

Newkirk sensed the direction of Davis's breath; it wasn't difficult, since he smelled of tobacco. Still holding onto the rifle with one hand, he used his medallion-clasped arm to deliver a right hook to the smuggler's face.

Davis was not about to fall as easily as the other smugglers, however. He kneed Newkirk in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Unable to see Davis's next attack, the burly smuggler sent the hapless East Ender across the tunnel chamber and into the wall.

"You okay, Peter?" Carter called, now grabbing at the rifle before Davis could take aim again. LeBeau took Carter's place in fighting the other two smugglers assisting Davis, preparing to take them on.

"Yeah," Newkirk said, as his breath returned to him.

He placed his hands on the ground to help boost himself back up, but he paused as felt a bare foot. He opened his eyes now to find himself in an odd chamber lit with torches. In the firelight, he realized that the foot he was touching was green.

_Don't look anymore_, he ordered himself. _It's another ruddy vision. Don't even give it a second thought; you need to help your mates_…

He trailed off as curiosity got the better of him. He looked up into the green-hued face of an Ancient Egyptian figure he had only seen in wall painting in museums.

Still vaguely aware of his friends calling out to him, Newkirk stood up and backed away from the figure. He tripped, sending him sprawling onto a large, metal platform suspended from a giant set of scales. On the other side of the scales rested a small, white feather.

"Hey, it's you!" he suddenly heard Carter exclaim.

Newkirk shut his eyes again, trying to block the vision out, trying to figure out who had just entered. LeBeau's harsh curse told him that it was not Hogan, Schultz, or Teppel. The Englishman suddenly felt a familiar gaze upon him—the same gaze he had felt when the Egyptian man had been staring at him back in Barracks Two. It had taken place only yesterday morning, and yet it had seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Shadi, what is this?" Davis snarled. "You see these three are causing trouble; help me deal with those two, and we'll use Corporal Newkirk as our shield!"

But the Egyptian did not move; instead, he strode closer to Newkirk, using _heka_ once again to look into his soul to see what he was seeing. The corporal blinked as Shadi appeared in his vision.

"…'ow did you do that?" He lowered his voice. "Are you really on our side, like Andrew said? Can you get this ruddy thing off me arm?"

"No," came the reply. "Though unintended, this is the proper punishment for a thief like you. This is the Weighing of the Heart, where you will face the weight of your crimes. As a soldier, you are cleared of some of the charges. However, a thief such as yourself is sure to fail; it has been my experience that thieves are those with impure souls."

"Look, I don't believe in any of this; I know I'm just seeing things… and 'earing them, and feeling them…" He swallowed hard; the cold metal of the balance felt all too real. "Louis? Andrew?"

LeBeau cursed, moving to turn his wrath on Shadi now, but Davis tripped him as he walked by, allowing the two smugglers he had been fighting with to try to restrain him. Carter was still trying to stop Davis from aiming the rifle, trying, in vain, to kick the two goons away from LeBeau.

The Frenchman yelled in pain as one of his assailants twisted his arm behind his back, and beads of sweat poured down the American's face as Davis tried to twist his arms by trying to rotate the rifle.

Newkirk turned his head in the hopes that he could come up with a plan to help, but it was all in vain. He couldn't even see them, much less help them.

"It will now begin," Shadi said, referring to the Weighing. Though he sought to aid LeBeau and Carter, he knew that, as a part of Newkirk's vision, he could not do so.

_No_, the East Ender thought, as he began to despair further at the sound of his troubled companions. _It's going to be over for them_. He looked up at the giant balance he was sitting in. _And for me, too_.

* * *

_Author's Note: LeBeau's fighting style is an example of savate, which is a French martial art. I just couldn't resist_…


	10. The Judgment

Newkirk shut his eyes again, trying to focus completely on his two friends. They were there, and they needed him. They were real. This balance was all in his imagination.

…But then why was there a gap between the platform on the supposedly-imagined scale and the ground?

The Egyptian man watched as the braces propping up the two platforms on the scale gave way. As he suspected, Newkirk's side of the scale began to descend.

The Englishman didn't understand what it meant, though his instinct told him it wasn't good. It was, perhaps, fortuitous that he didn't know that one who failed the Weighing of the Heart was fed to Ammit the Devourer the moment his side of the balance hit the ground; he would have been a bit more preoccupied with his fate in the event that he had known.

But even if he had known the legend, Newkirk likely would not have thought about it for very long; he turned back as LeBeau cursed again, the pain evident in the Frenchman's voice as his arm was twisted further.

"Louis, 'ang on!" he called to him. _That's it. I'm not sitting about while these illusions stop me. Me mates need me, and, Cor blimey, I'm going to 'elp them_.

But before he could move, his side of the balance paused in its descent, hovered for a moment, and began to rise.

"Are you quite finished?" Newkirk muttered, waiting for it to stop so that he could judge his jump.

Shadi stared as the scales balanced themselves. How could it be that a mere thief could pass the Weighing?

Once the scales had stopped moving, Newkirk paused for a moment, making sure that they would not move again. He didn't even bother to notice that the scales were balanced and that he had passed the test; the Englishman leaped from the platform, and the scales vanished behind him, though Shadi followed.

_By passing the Weighing, he has one last vision of Duat to overcome_, the Egyptian said to himself, pulling out of Newkirk's vision. _He must evade Apophis himself. If he can do so, then he will have proven that he is not the mere scoundrel I thought him to be_.

That was the least of Newkirk's worries, of course; he was now shutting his eyes again, focusing on where LeBeau was, who seemed to be in the most pain. The Frenchman called out to him, realizing what he was trying to do, and Newkirk struck, pulling one of LeBeau's assailants off of him and sent him tumbling across the chamber floor. The goon quickly whipped around to regain his ground, and Newkirk lunged, solely on the deductions of his opponent's movements, based on what the corporal could hear.

The Frenchman was now able to break free of his other captor, trying to also lend a hand to Newkirk, who was grappling with his baffled opponent. Clearly, the man was wondering how Newkirk fought with his sight intact when he was doing so well without it.

Davis cursed, now pressing his knee against Carter's chest, trying to force him to let go of the rifle. The strain on the American's face was noticeable; he was already nearing exhaustion by trying to keep the rifle pointed away from his friends.

"André!" LeBeau exclaimed. He tried to help him, but paid for his lapse in concentration by getting tackled to the ground by his opponent.

Shadi let out a "tsk" as Newkirk threw his opponent down, stunning him, and ran at Davis, trying to give some aid to Carter. The Egyptian placed his fingers on the downed smuggler's neck as he struggled to rise, pressing his pressure points until he slumped forward, unconscious. With that, the Egyptian exited the chamber, deciding that it would be best to alert the trio's commanding officer to their presence.

Davis growled in frustration as Newkirk came to Carter's aid, but he was not concerned; Carter was almost at his breaking point, and Newkirk couldn't even see, thanks to the visions from the medallion.

The gruff smuggler focused his attention on Carter first, pressing his knee against the American's chest with as much strength as he could summon. Carter shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, but his hands slipped from the rifle, causing him to fall.

LeBeau threw his assailant off as Newkirk seized the rifle again, moving to help Carter to his feet. Carter was still shaky; it had taken all of his strength to hold Davis off for this long. As LeBeau moved to help Newkirk try to take the rifle from Davis, Carter found himself unable to fight too well against the smuggler that LeBeau had just thrown off. One punch from the other smuggler sent Carter across the chamber, where he sat in a daze, trying to clear his head. The other smuggler was following up his attack, however.

"Go help André; I will handle him!" LeBeau ordered.

Newkirk didn't like the odds of the short and stocky LeBeau matching his strength with that of the tall and burly Davis. But as Newkirk realized that Carter needed more help than LeBeau did, he struggled to pinpoint the American's location and head towards him, but not before dealing Davis a punch in the jaw.

LeBeau immediately used his grip on the rifle as leverage to allow himself to put more force behind a _fouetté_ kick, striking Davis on the shoulder with enough force to cause him to loosen his grip on the rifle. Gravity pulled the Frenchman to the ground, the rifle in his hands.

LeBeau tried to scoot backwards to get away, but Davis was quicker; he grabbed the end of the rifle and swung the little Frenchman into the wall of the chamber. LeBeau hit his head against the wall, causing stars to explode into his vision. He still held onto his grip on the rifle, trying to strike with another _fouetté_ kick. Davis was expecting it, however, and he braced himself for the blow.

Newkirk pulled the other smuggler away from Carter, dealing him a knockout punch as he realized that LeBeau was in trouble. Carter himself tried to get to his feet, but he was still too exhausted.

"Stay right there, Andrew; I'll 'elp 'im," he assured the American.

Carter sunk back to the floor, unable to do anything but follow Newkirk's instructions.

As the East Ender moved to aid his French friend, a sudden presence in front of him made him stop. He heard the hiss of a large serpent, and he could feel its putrid breath directly in front of him. Apophis's eyes glowed orange-red, like two pieces of live coal, as the demon snake homed in on the corporal. Newkirk glanced at his right arm—where metal bands had been all this time, coils from the snake now appeared, writhing and squeezing his arm even tighter than before to ensure that he could not get away.

Newkirk heard LeBeau cry out as Davis swung the rifle and slammed him against the wall again, followed by another failed attempt by Carter to get to his feet. A scowl crossed the East Ender's face, and he dashed forward, caring nothing about what happened to him. He knew that he had to ensure that his friends held out until Hogan arrived.

Apophis struck, his fangs only just missing him as Newkirk sped past; the snake's fangs stuck into the ground. Venom pooled from the serpent's mouth as he tried to free himself. Newkirk found himself bound, as well, as he found himself halted in his tracks by Apophis's coils around his arm.

Davis swung LeBeau against the wall a third time, and Newkirk knew that he could not wait any more as he heard the Frenchman's pained gasp. He strained against the snake's coils as the snake strained against the ground. Desperate, no longer thinking, Newkirk used his left hand to reach for his pencil sharpener and threw the knife at the snake; the knife landed in the snake's midsection.

Apophis hissed, loosening his grip on Newkirk's arm just slightly enough for the corporal to slip his arm through the coils. The darkness around him gave way to the dimly-lit tunnel chamber he was in, and the image of Apophis vanished. The medallion around his arm loosened; the metal bands retracted. The medallion fell to the floor, and, though metal, shattered as the dark _heka_ within it dissipated.

Sight restored, Newkirk launched himself at Davis in full fury, striking with an uppercut to the burly smuggler's jaw before seizing the rifle. Carter now forced himself up, heading over to lend what little strength he had recovered.

Davis was still confident that he could gain the upper hand long enough to get Carter and LeBeau out of the way for good. Once again, he aimed to knee the trio, one at a time, but found himself staring down the barrel of another rifle.

"Let go of the rifle, Smuggler!" a familiar voice ordered; the voice, normally jolly, was now speaking with a cold seriousness that did not suit him.

"Is that _our_ Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, having to look to make sure that it was really him.

Hogan entered the chamber next, surprised to see the sight, as well.

"Schultz, is your rifle actually loaded?" he asked.

"This time, it is," the sergeant replied, glaring at Davis.

Morrison now entered with a few more of his men, but Davis had already surrendered. The smugglers were rounded up as Hogan approached the exhausted trio.

"You three okay?" he asked, quietly.

"We'll live," Newkirk said, somewhat wryly, as LeBeau and Carter managed tired nods. The English corporal glanced down to see his pencil sharpener lying on the ground near the medallion. After making sure that none of the Germans were noticing, Newkirk retrieved his knife and concealed it once again.

Hogan now bent down to retrieve the pieces of the Medallion of Apophis, but Newkirk seized his wrist before he could do so.

"I wouldn't touch those if I were you, Sir," he advised. "I know it's broken and it 'opfully can't work anymore, but… take me word for it."

The colonel stared at the corporal blankly, trying to figure out how metal could shatter like that, but shrugged it off.

"How did you find us, _Colonel_?" LeBeau asked, shaking the last few stars from his vision.

"We followed Newkirk here, but when we arrived, people were running all over the place; 'Major Teppel' had his hands full. Then an Egyptian man pointed us in this direction before he pulled a disappearing act of his own."

The trio exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the man.

"_Herr Major_," Schultz said, saluting Morrison. "With these, we have captured all but three—the Egyptian, the young man, and the ringleader."

"Michael never came back?" Newkirk asked. "Even with the 'eadstart?"

"Guess he didn't want to come back without Nefertiti," Carter said.

"Nefertiti…" Hogan murmured, realizing that Newkirk was empty-handed. "Where's the statue head?"

Newkirk slipped into his usual nervous eye shift.

"Gone, Sir; Alistair took 'er and scarpered after 'e set that medallion on me. Well, 'e was actually trying to get Louis with the ruddy thing, and I sort of took the 'it meself, as it were."

"I am so sorry, Pierre," the Frenchman said, quietly.

"Don't be," Newkirk said. "You and Andrew risked your lives to 'elp me; it was the very least I could do—especially since I started this mess."

"And that reminds me," Hogan said, quietly, as he glared at LeBeau and Carter. "What on Earth possessed you to run after those kidnappers?"

The corporal and the sergeant could only respond with sheepish looks.

"Sir, I probably wouldn't 'ave survived if not for them," Newkirk said. "I would've refused when Alistair ordered me to get Nefertiti, and 'e would've killed me on the spot."

"We just couldn't abandon him, Sir," Carter added. "You know, there's an old Sioux tale about a tribe who abandoned two kids, and a crow and a spider later revealed to the them that the rest of the tribe was cursed with famine because they—"

"I get it, Carter," Hogan said, having to hide his amusement.

"I guess you could call us the Three Musketeers of Stalag 13," LeBeau offered, with a shrug. "_Tous pour un_…"

"And one for all!" Carter finished, prompting Newkirk to snark as LeBeau gave the American an unreadable glance.

A sudden, quiet noise down the passageway caught the trio's attention; it sounded like shouting, and Newkirk recognized the unmistakable sound of a Cockney accent.

"It couldn't be…" he murmured, running down the passage as LeBeau, Carter, and Hogan followed, with Schultz at their heels.

Newkirk froze as he beheld the sight in front of him. Alistair had been trying to make his escape from an emergency tunnel not unlike one that the Heroes had for themselves. But Michael had been lying in wait for him and now held him at gunpoint.

"Out of the way," Alistair said, quietly. He was unarmed, having lost his own weapon in the confrontation with the trio. He stared calmly at Michael and the drawn weapon as he stood, holding a bag of gold and money in one hand and carrying Nefertiti with the other.

"No!" Michael yelled, his features twisted in rage. "I 'eard what you said to them! I 'eard you say we were all expendable—after everything you promised me and the others! You're not leaving 'ere alive!"

"Don't blame me because you were desperate enough to believe me," Alistair replied, unremorseful. "You had your life of luxury for five years; you should have known that there would be a clause attached to it."

It was the wrong thing to say; Michael's finger moved to squeeze the trigger.

"I'll 'ave your guts for garters!" the young man vowed.

"Alright, that's enough!" Newkirk said, taking a step forward.

"Newkirk—!" Hogan began.

"Sir, I can 'andle this," the corporal replied, and he turned to Michael. "Look; I know this smarmy snake deserves to die, but you don't deserve to 'ave it on _your_ conscience that you killed a man in cold blood."

"What do you know about it?" the young man cried back. "You were right about your best China; I saw that, too! I saw them leadin' you through the tunnels when you couldn't see! You don't know what it's like to…" He trailed off, glaring at Alistair in hatred.

"No, I don't," Newkirk admitted. "But I can imagine."

"No, you can't!" Michael retorted. "You joined the RAF; you got yourself off the ruddy streets! You've got your mates! I've got no one and nothing to lose!"

"You've got yourself!" Newkirk countered. "If you're willing to lose yourself, then, by all means, go ahead and kill 'im. I certainly won't mourn Alistair, but I will always remember that it was a terrible shame to lose you."

Newkirk could feel the eyes of his friends upon him as he took another couple of steps towards Michael.

"I know it seems 'opeless now," the corporal went on. "But I'm telling you that there is a chance for you if you let 'im live. You might not see it, but I do; I 'ave a little bit more knowledge of the current situation than you do." He held out his hand for the gun. "I know Alistair is full of lies, but there was one thing 'e said that 'ad some truth to it. You know 'ow 'e said that you and I were very similar? I see a lot of what I used to be in you; I've survived the streets of the East End just like you 'ave. And if I know you based on 'ow I knew meself, I'm willing to wager that you really don't want to kill this scum in cold blood, even though it's what 'e deserves."

Michael stared at Newkirk for a long time, still holding the gun pointed at Alistair's chest, who remained stoically still. As the minutes ticked by, Michael's resolve seemed to crumble. His shoulders slumped as he handed the gun to Newkirk.

"Well done, Newkirk," Hogan said, quietly.

LeBeau murmured something in his own tongue, echoing the colonel's sentiments.

Morrison arrived with a few more men in tow, and he immediately gave the order to have Alistair and Michael arrested.

"Believe me, there's a chance you'll make it back to London," Newkirk said quietly, to ensure that only Michael could hear him. "We can try arranging it so that the RAF might take you back—if we're lucky."

The younger East Ender gave a nod, not sure what Newkirk meant, but deciding that he was more trustworthy than Alistair.

Morrison's men led Michael and Alistair away with the others, as Morrison himself approached Newkirk to take the gun from him.

"Corporal," he said. "I will require you and your two companions to give your account of these happenings to me when we get back to my headquarters."

"And as their commanding officer, I demand to be present when you're questioning them," Hogan added.

"Granted," Morrison said. "Schultz, you will wait outside the door…"

Newkirk tuned out the rest of Morrison's words as Carter suddenly clapped him on the back.

"You were great!" Carter exclaimed. "How did you know he'd hand the gun over?"

"Call it a feeling, Andrew," he replied.

"Perhaps you should get into psychiatry after the war," LeBeau teased.

Hogan listened to them banter as they headed back to Morrison's headquarters.

_Well_, he sighed to himself. _They got through another one._

****Epilogue****

Try as they might, Morrison's men were unable to find the mysterious Egyptian. It would have been fruitless; the man had changed his features yet again and had entered Morrison's building (disguised as one of his men), pausing to look at the retrieved loot and the pieces of the broken Medallion of Apophis. He knew that the medallion would have broken once its spell had been overcome; it was a loss of an antiquity, but one cursed with dark _heka_. The pieces would be harmless in a museum now, and murmurs from Morrison's other men assured him that the other stolen loot would be returned to Egypt, save for Nefertiti, who would be returned to the flak tower.

It was enough, he decided. And as Morrison held his "interrogation" in his office upstairs, Shadi strode out the front door of the building and vanished into the night, still humbled by the encounter with the selfless and paradoxically pure-hearted thief who overcame the medallion's dark _heka_ not to save his own skin, but to stop his greatest fear from coming true.

The "selfless and paradoxically pure-hearted thief," in the meantime, had spent most of the fake interrogation pleading with Morrison to go easy on Michael and, if at all possible, find a way to send him back to England.

"I know there's good in 'im, Sir," Newkirk had said. "If we get in touch with London and explain everything, I'm sure they'll understand."

"I'll do my best, Corporal," Morrison had promised.

Realizing that it was all he could hope for, Newkirk had agreed.

Once the "interrogation" had finished, the men were released into Schultz's custody, who proceeded to drive them back to Stalag 13, much more cheerful now that they were all safe.

"Please, Colonel Hogan, tell them not to get in trouble with smugglers again," he said. "A man of my age, with a wife and five children, should not be chasing after smugglers."

"And yet, you did," Hogan said. "And believe me, we respect you for it. But the man is right, you three."

The trio nodded in agreement.

"I 'ereby promise that I'll never pick up a stray book again," Newkirk vowed, quietly.

The trio lapsed into silence as the journey back to Stalag 13 continued as they decided to catch up on lost sleep. Hogan listened politely to Schultz as he went on about how the trio would make him into an old man with all the worrying he did, but both the naps and the conversations were brought to a halt as they drove into Stalag 13 to hear the familiar angry rants of Major Hochstetter.

Schultz ushered everyone inside to Klink's office to see the German colonel cowering under Hochstetter's glare.

"_Herr Kommandant_, I am pleased to report that the kidnapped prisoners have been recovered!" Schultz began, but then also began to cower as Hochstetter turned to him.

"Kidnapped!" the major snarled, derisively. "So they are still holding on to that story?"

"It is as I told you, Major Hochstetter," Klink said, feeling helpless against him. "I received a call from Major Teppel earlier explaining what had happened. They have the smugglers in custody, and…" He suddenly received a shot of confidence. "He believes that your allowing those two smugglers in here was what convinced them that they could run off with my prisoners!"

"You are blaming me for this?" Hochstetter snarled.

"Not in so many words…" Klink said, backing down almost immediately.

"I am telling you, Klink, something is going on here," the major said, glaring at Hogan. "Smugglers, three missing prisoners, and a phone call summoning me to Düsseldorf for no reason at all? I assure you, I will launch a thorough investigation into this matter!"

"You really think that's such a good idea, considering how it was you who let those smugglers into the camp in the first place?" Hogan asked. "It's lucky that Sergeant Schultz and Major Teppel were able to rescue my men; who knows what would have happened to them?"

"They were torturing us, Sir!" Newkirk said to Klink. "They tried to get us to join them!"

"Ah, _oui_; we would have only held out for so long!" LeBeau added.

"Yeah!" Carter agreed. "Another hour or two, and who knows what would've—"

"Bah!" the major snarled, and he turned on his heel and left. One thing was true—Hochstetter did not need his superiors to find out about how he had caused a breach in security by bringing those smugglers into the camp. This time, he would stand aside and let things resolve themselves. But it would not be the end of his investigations at Stalag 13. Somehow, some way, he would prove that Hogan and his men were involved with the Underground.

Klink sighed with relief as soon as the major left.

"_Herr Kommandant_, here is the report by Major Teppel," Schultz said, handing it to him. "It explains everything that happened in Berlin."

"Yes, I'll look over it later," Klink replied. "Now, as for you three…"

"_Kommandant_, seeing as though my men were taken against their will, it stands to reason that they shouldn't be forced to spend any time in solitary," Hogan said.

Klink shot a "Why me?" look to the heavens.

"You 'ave no idea 'ow much of a relief it is to be back 'ere, Sir," said Newkirk. "Without smugglers forcing you to steal enchanted artifacts…"

"…A chance to cook and eat a filling meal once again…" LeBeau added.

"…And the nice, cold bunks with the extra blankets," Carter finished.

"Fine, fine," said Klink, burying his face in his hands. "You are dismissed—for now; I still have questions about all of this!"

The trio saluted and left, followed by Schultz. Hogan couldn't resist staying behind for one more minute.

"You know, Sir, I bet General Burkhalter would like to hear about how you retrieved three kidnapped prisoners and sent your best man to help round up an entire smuggling ring."

Klink looked up now, clearly mulling over the idea.

"And it would also be a good chance to discredit Major Hochstetter," Hogan added. "After all, who was the one who demanded bringing those smugglers in?"

"You know something, Hogan? You're quite right," the German colonel mused. He smirked to himself, knowing that Burkhalter was one of the few people whom Hochstetter would listen to. "It might keep Hochstetter too occupied to keep coming back for some time."

_And that's time we could use for more missions_, Hogan said to himself, as he took his leave. _Klink, we'd never be able to do it without you_.

He exited the _Kommandantur_ and crossed across the compound to Barracks Two. Schultz was on guard outside the door.

"Schultz?" the colonel asked.

"We captured all but one," the sergeant explained. "What if that Egyptian man comes back for them? I must be ready."

Hogan had his doubts that they would see the mysterious Egyptian again, but he didn't want to disappoint Schultz by telling him this.

"Keep at it, Soldier," Hogan said, entering the barracks.

The colonel paused as he gazed upon the scene inside the barracks. Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter were recounting their odd misadventure to their intrigued barracks-mates. LeBeau was standing on the table, demonstrating his savate moves to the onlookers as Newkirk attempted to describe the visions that the medallion had given them. Carter was punctuating the discussion with how impressed he was that Newkirk had fought so well without being able to see at all.

Hogan folded his arms and leaned against the door as he listened to the trio, amused.

They really were the Three Musketeers of Stalag 13.

* * *

_Author's Note: And, it's done! There aren't as many loose ends in this one, but I'll still address the ones that remain. First of all, Shadi was supposed to make a dramatic fade into the night; he never was truly on any "side," other than his own. His position was meant to be Chaotic Neutral, and he starts off in his own fandom that way until a few more humbling experiences change him into Chaotic Good. The other loose end is what happened to Michael, but I have plans for him; my readers can expect to see him again in a future fic.  
Many thanks to my readers; I hope they all enjoyed it!_


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